WIND WALKING
by Spirit Burner AKA Chick Feed
Summary: Go find out what's keeping a hurricane level storm tied to one specific place. Easy? Is your name Winchester? No? Enough said! - Sick/confused/loopy/wet/hurt Dean, Angsty/wet/worried/hurt/hero Sam, Angry/worried/sarcastic/fatherly Bobby, all tied up with a well known piece of American folk law that's been given a little twist.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer - I admit to playing with someone else's toys, but I fully intend to give them back, whole and undamaged._**

**WIND WALKING **

C1

**-o-o-o-o-**

On a scale of strong winds, Dean nominated this particular gale as overall supreme champion in the category of Alpha Winds. It was, no doubt, an Apex Predator of winds. It blasted around everything and everyone with fierce fury, hitting hard, Mohammed Ali hard, stinging bare skin and punching repeatedly at it's target without let up; holding it's victims against the ropes, throwing them into the corner and keeping them there, helpless, whilst it hammered at them over and over. Only the truly insane would venture outside and leave themselves open to the gale's none stop assault. The truly insane ... _Oh yeah, and the Winchesters .._. Dean's thoughts rolled on, suggesting and then agreeing with himself that, in fact, the insane and the Winchesters were quite probably one and the same. _Especially_ in the case of his little brother. Correction...His _taller,_ little brother. Dean could imagine Sam describing the weather in dumbass words such as "_bracing_" and "_invigorating_." With eyes that were sore and dried out by the gusts, Dean squinted into the wind to check on the relevant brother who was four or five yards ahead. Much like himself, Sam was walking with his body thrust forward at virtually a 45 degree angle, physically having to push his way through the oncoming blasts. Dean called out to him.

"Hey Sammy? What's the wind like up there where you are?"

Dean's words were instantly whipped away, torn from his lips and cast aside before ever reaching Sam's ears. Gritting his teeth, Dean pushed harder against this dark force of nature, determined to catch up with Sam. If he could, he'd be ordering his brother to take shelter, wait it out for a while, see if the winds began to lessen. Glancing around through his half closed eyes simply confirmed that there was no shelter to be had. He and Sam were out in the open, struggling to make any real headway across a high plain where, even in the best of weathers, only short, stubby grasses and thick, spiky shrubs covered the ground. Trees were infrequent, small and stunted, with bare branches that were twisted into weird knots and angles. There was no offer of respite from them. The sky was a heavy mass of rushing clouds, ranging from yellow grey through to being so dark in colour that they were almost black. No speck of sunlight could penetrate those thick, rolling, sombre clouds. Heavy with foreboding, they managed to make midday seem almost like dusk.

-o-

Dean struggled to close the short distance between himself and his brother, feeling like he was trying to swim against white water currents; the sensation made even more pronounced by the constant battle to draw breath before the wild winds could snatch it away. At last he got close enough to reach out and grab the hood of his brother's all weather coat and give it a tug, as though pulling on the reigns of a horse, bringing Sam to a halt. Turning, Sam's hair whipped and lashed at his own face, covering him, blinding him. Using both hands, he did his best to hold it off his face and out of his eyes. Despite his own discomfort, Dean still managed an amused expression as he watched Sam's contest against his own hair.

"How much further to this out post?"

It was only by reading Dean's lips that he actually knew what his older brother had asked. Sam leaned over so that he was speaking directly into Dean's ear.

"About another three miles. It's in the bottom of a circular hollow in the terrain. Imagine a crater left by a meteor hit an' you'll get the picture. Hopefully it's a bit more sheltered from the wind down there."

Dean nodded his understanding and together, the brothers turned to the task of walking against the buffeting wind, hoping they could make their destination before the heavily pregnant clouds finally gave birth to the inevitable rain. They had managed to cover another mile when they both heard the first ominous rumble of thunder and, along with it, felt the first hit of large, globular raindrops. As the rain gradually became heavier and faster, the wind caught it, turned it into spears of water that it hurled at a steep angle, driving the pounding shafts of water at their bodies. Lancing their exposed faces like some mad, heavy  
handed acupuncturist, determinedly slowing their progress yet further, whilst increasing the misery they both felt.

-o-

By the time the now thoroughly depressed, sodden and shivering cold Hunters came across the edge of the deep indentation in the landscape, they were being subjected to the full Hammer House of Horror storm, complete with frequent brilliant fiery spikes of forked lightening. Visibility had been reduced down to a hundred yards or so in the heavy rain. Combined with the still howling winds, it felt to the Winchesters like the top layers of skin on their faces was being sand blasted away. Dean by this point was functioning on auto pilot, hanging his head, his gaze fixed on the toes of his boots as he willed his feet to keep moving, one ahead of the other, then the next. It was fortunate for him that Sam spotted the edge of the crater like formation and had the presence of mind to grab on to Dean, in doing so stopping his brother from simply trudging over the crater's edge and plummeting all the way down the slope.

"Whoa, careful. We'll need to take it steady, the slope's going to be wet and muddy. Try walking down sideways on, you know, kinda like you've got skis on and you're walking down a snow covered mountain slope, ok?"

"Skis. Slope. Sideways. Gottit. ... There'd better be some kinda heating in this place when we get down there"

Sam nodded in heartfelt agreement. At that same moment, Dean startled himself by unexpectedly letting fly with a series of eardrum bursting sneezes.

-o-o-o-o-


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thank you so much for the reviews for C1 and to all of you who have kindly put down to follow this fic. I hope I write a good enough fic to repay your willingness to give it a go.  
_****_Chick x_**

**C2**

**-o-o-o-o-**

Getting down the fairly gradual slope that formed the sides of the hollow actually turned into quite an arduous task, thanks to the effect of the frequent heavy bouts of rain turning the ground into a never ending sea of deep, sticky, gloopy mud. Sam and Dean found themselves resorting to an ungraceful jumbled mixture of slipping, skidding, hand grabbing and butt sliding, but finally they both made it unscathed. Dean stared at the place they were staying for the duration of the hunt. The shabby exterior of the shack that served as a ranger's out post didn't raise any great expectations in him, still, at the very least it offered much needed shelter out of the wind and the pouring rain and, right now, that in itself was something to look forward to. At the wooden entrance door, Sam began feeling along the top edge of the frame, searching for a key. Having no joy there, he squatted down and tentatively lifted one edge of an old doormat. Once upon a time supposedly coir, it was now clearly rotten and slimy with dirt and mould. Peering under it, Sam disturbed a good number of worms, but still no key. Dean nudged Sam on the shoulder with his knee, smirking whilst dangling a door key in front of Sam's face.

"Flowerpot. C'mon, lets get inside."

-o-

The Hunters stood dripping inside the doorway of the old shack and looked around. Dean smiled, it was better than he had hoped for. Although it consisted of one main room, there were no signs of the rain having come through anywhere and, whilst the place needed an airing, there was no smell of damp or mildew. A two ring gas camping cooker standing on a counter top served as somewhere to boil a kettle or prepare hot food. There was also a small metal sink set into the counter. Furnished with a single tap that gave cold water, it was operated by a hand pump. A little wooden table with two wooden chairs helped to define the area as the kitchen come dining space. The living area was marked by an extra large sized flat weave rug decorated in Aztec style patterns. It's previously bright colours now long since faded into soft, muted shades. Standing on the rug were two high backed fabric covered armchairs, each with thick deep cushioned seats and looking very much as if they had been transported straight out of the 1930's. Between them stood a very utilitarian coffee table, on top of which was an old fashioned glass oil lamp. The chairs were positioned at a slight angle, sited so they faced towards a small, stone fireplace. Dean could have whimpered with gratitude when he saw two metal buckets already full of coal, and a pile of old newspapers topped off with the additional bonus of a box of firelighters. He quickly removed his soaking wet coat and hung it on one of the old wooden coat pegs by the door.

"C'mon. First things first, I'll get the fire, you check out those cupboards for a kettle or a pan and get some water boiling."

-o-

Sam had swiftly composed a visual inventory of the contents of the two cupboards under the kitchen counter, finding a small camping kettle, a frying pan and a saucepan, three miss-matched plates, four mugs, all with a chip but useable, and a basic selection of cooking and eating utensils in one cupboard. Sam was pleased to see a couple of spare gas canisters for the camping cooker. In the other he found a box of powdered milk sachets along with a tub of instant coffee sachets of dubious pedigree; and then he hit jackpot. Two large tins of what claimed on the label to be _New_! _Now_ _Even Chunkier_, Irish stew and one forlorn looking tin of hamburgers in gravy. Not exactly nouvelle cuisine, but added to the provisions they had brought with them, at least they were assured of a hot meal for the next two or three days. Dean was again giving an impressive display of rapid fire sneezing whilst carefully laying small pieces of coal onto his mound of screwed up paper and firelighters. Sam paused in his search, turning to look over to his brother, a worried frown evident on his face.

"You ok there? Not comin' down with a cold, are you?"

Dean shook his head.

"Nah. Coal dust is all. No need to get all last rites."

Sam wanted to believe his brother, he did. It's just that Sam knew Dean almost as well as he knew himself, and Dean would habitually hide any signs of illness from Sam for as long as he possibly could.

"You sure?"

"Sam! I'm sure. Alright? Why don't you get done with what you're doin', then go check what's on the other side of that door in the corner. My guess is it's the bathroom."

The word bathroom turned out to be somewhat generous. There was a toilet which one flushed by throwing a bucket of water down it, and a small sink with one tap which operated in the same way as the kitchen sink. Hot showers were clearly off the menu whilst the brothers were residing here. The luxury item appeared to be the mirror hung above the sink. The only other fixture in there was a good sized and fairly well stocked first aid cabinet. Folded and leaning up against a wall were two ancient looking, army style, canvas camp beds.

-o-

Satisfied that the fire had caught, Dean turned his attention to the boiling camping kettle on the stove. He tore open a sachet of coffee and sniffed the contents suspiciously. Shrugging he emptied two sachets into each mug.

"Found these in the toilet, might as well try them out."

"The toilet?"

"Yeah. One very low tech loo and a cold tap only sink. Oh. And a mirror."

"Awesome! Here, coffee."

Sam accepted the drink gratefully, not noticing Dean watching and waiting for Sam to drink. As soon as Sam did, his face imploded. Sam's expression morphed into the classic _bulldog chewing on a hornet_ look as he coughed and spluttered the incredibly bitter and very stale tasting brew down. He grimaced and put his mug back on the counter. Grinning, Dean poured his own coffee straight down the sink.

"Think I'll go get our own coffee. My backpack or yours?"

-o-o-o-o-


	3. Chapter 3

**C3**

**-o-o-o-o-**

Finally wearing dry clothes and, more importantly, with a palatable coffee to hand, Sam sat himself down at the dining table and opened out an ordinance survey map of the area. He began using his finger to trace the contours encompassed by a section marked out by a circle drawn in red ink, roughly identifying the section of the plains that sat directly beneath the storms. Dean saw Sam happily sinking into research mode and smiled to himself.

"Ok, seeing as how you're being all boy scout, I'll give Bobby a call, let him know we've arrived...Assuming I can get a signal out here."

Sam looked up from the map.

"I'm guessing even if you _can_ normally get one, you'll struggle to find one with the storm being as bad as it is right now."

Almost on cue came a loud, crashing roll of thunder followed, on Dean's count of _One,_ by a brilliant flash that momentarily lit up the area of sky above them as though someone had taken a picture using one gigantic flashlight. The effect instantly prompted Dean to cover his eyes and start squeaking _Bright light! Bright_ _light_! at his brother in his best gremlin voice. Sam grinned at him briefly before returning his attention back to the map. Dean sighed and focused on staring at the signal indicator on his cell. He began walking slowly around the small space inside the shack, coming to a halt directly in front of the one window.

"I've got one bar here, it might be enough."

Irritatingly, the signal kept fading in and out, leaving Dean not sure whether Bobby had even answered. He spoke anyway, just in case.

"It's me, Dean. Don't know if you're hearing me Bobby? I sure as Hell ain't hearing you, but anyway, we're here, at the shelter. Damn storm's kicking up a fury. I'll try callin' again if it calms any, ok? So, this' Dean, we're at the shelter, we're both ok."

Sited in the bottom of the natural hollow as the shack was, it did gain some degree of shelter from the worst of the storm. The winds no longer threw it's full force at them from one direction. The payoff however for the slight decrease in the power of the wind was that here, it spun around the edges of the circular hollow, descending at each full turn like a ball-bearing, spinning around and around within the confines of a roulette wheel. Were it not for the heavy downpour turning the mixture of sand and gritty soil into a thick muddy paste, the spiralling wind would instead have been surrounding the shack with an imprisoned whirlwind of dust and dirt lifted up from the sloping sides and floor of the basin. creating an imprisoned dust storm. Dean eyed the buckets of coal, one already half empty; trying to calculate if he had enough to see them through until morning.

"Think we might need more coal before the night's out."

"Good luck with that one dude. No way _I'm_ going out in this to look for a coal store."

"Selfish much?"

"That's right bro'. In case you hadn't noticed, the weather's a little harsh out there!"

Dean stared out of the window, the light levels rapidly getting lower as the evening grew closer.

"We're both gonna have to go out in it tomorrow, like it or not. We're not likely to find the artefact, or whatever the Hell it is that Bobby thinks is here, without dragging our asses out there at _some_ point. Storm or no storm!"

"Hunting is one thing. Fetching coal? You're _still_ on your own with _that_ one I'm afraid."

"Fine. I'll give it an hour, see if things quieten down any. But, if I'm goin' out there and lugging coal around, _you_ get to cook supper and clear up after. Deal?"

"Deal."

Dean's face screwed up and he blatted off five sneezes in a row. Sam raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. He didn't have to. Dean gave him a sullen _huff_ before turning away from his younger brother, instead staring at the fire and trying, unsuccessfully, to contain the sudden brief shiver that ran through his body. Sam stayed quiet, but both he and Dean knew that Sam's _Dean Radar_ was now on high alert.

-o-

When Dean ventured outside later it was still raining, though nothing like so hard as it had previously been and, whilst there was still thunder and lightening, Dean was now counting up to four after the thunder rolled and before the lightning flashed. Despite the benefit of his all weather coat, the stark difference when moving from the warmth which had developed within the shack, and into the cold, wet, windy outside was startling. In one hand Dean swung one of the metal coal buckets which was already empty, clanking it loudly as he walked. Poking out of it was his fold down spade, both brothers having brought one each along with a couple of brick hammers for if they found themselves having to do any digging. In his other hand he was casually holding a flashlight. As he walked around the outside of the shack, he constantly swept the area with it's beam. Although most of his attention was focused on finding the coal store, the Hunter in him couldn't help but scan the area in general. Around the rear of the shack, he noticed what looked like an old wooden lean too and headed towards it. The front of the lean too comprised of two large wooden plank doors held closed by an big old fashioned iron bolt. Yanking one of the doors open, the movement of it's hinges felt stiff and, as he hauled it further open, the circling wind hit the door making it wobble un-unnervingly and forcing Dean to hang on tighter, fighting for control whilst the wind determinedly engaged Dean in a bizarre tug-o-war. As soon as he could, Dean peered inside, and grinned.

"Yahtzee!"

Using one side of his body to stop the door swinging closed, Dean put his spade to good use and began quickly filling the coal bucket. Eventually he was satisfied that he couldn't squeeze another lump of coal into his bucket, and he hurriedly re-traced his footsteps back to the front of the shack. Nearing the front door, Dean thought he caught a swift movement in his peripheral vision, nothing more than a dark shadow within the diminishing light of dusk. He turned his head quickly, but if there _had_ been anything, it was gone now. Shining the light from his torch in a wide ark, Dean saw nothing out of the ordinary. Shrugging, he turned again to the door and, putting his bucket down, reached for the door handle. The loud and prolonged screeching sound that had Dean instantly spinning around, seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond the top of the basin's sloping sides. Turning off his flashlight, Dean stilled and waited quietly, desperately hoping that the slight tickle in his nose wasn't the pre-curser to another outbreak of uncontrolled sneezing.

-o-

After two or three minutes of standing silently in the increasing darkness that was the dusk rushing to greet the night, Dean turned back to the door. Opening it, he took half a step inside, and found himself eye to barrel with a pistol that was pointed at his head. Dean ground to a halt.

"Er...Sammy?"

"_Jeeze! _Dean! Couldn't you have _knocked_ or something?"

"Well I _would've_, if I'd known my brother was going to be standing there pointing his weapon at me!

...**?**...

Um...I mean your gun, jerk. Do you _mind_ aiming it somewhere else? Or should I assume you actually _want _to shoot me?"

"Oh..._Sorry _... Did you hear that weird sound?"

Once Same had put the safety back on and lowered his gun, Dean stepped fully into the shack, closing the door behind him.

"If you mean the noise that sounded like the screech of a car breaking way too hard and going into a skid? Yeah, I heard it. Didn't see anything that might be responsible. Probably just some local loud mouthed wildlife can't hold his beer. I _did_ find the coal store though, and there's _more_ than enough coal to carry us through ... What's that I can smell cooking?"

-o-o-o-o-


	4. Chapter 4

Please don't hate me, I'm a Dean girl, the section at the end of this chapter  
is for story purposes only and **not** a reflection of the author's views. Ok? **:**o

**C4**

-o-o-o-o-

Irish stew with bread rolls was the supper of choice that night, and whilst the picture on the tin was clearly of a different, and way more superior, brand of Irish stew than the one inside the tin, it _was_ hot and filling.

"So, you figured how to get from here to where Bobby thinks the storms are originating from?"

"Roughly north west from here, just over three miles. There's no unusual land features showing in that area, looks pretty much like more of the same terrain we crossed to get here."

"Maybe there's been some kinda, whassit, natural land movement?"

Sam nodded.

"That's a possiblity. And if there _was_ a disturbance, this thing that we're looking for could've ended up being uncovered..."

"...And then kick started this freakin' dismal weather."

"It's a sound hypothesis."

"Assuming it _is_ some kinda artefact or cursed whatever that's responsible for the nuclear style winds. What is it that's got Bobby so sure that's what we're looking for?"

Sam stood up from the table and picked up Dean's empty bowl. Putting it with his own, he dumped them both in the sink before grabbing two bottles of beer from one of the two six packs which Dean had produced from his rucksack.

"You've _got _to have left somethin' important behind to fit these into your rucksack."

Dean said nothing, simply giving Sam a small smile. Sam frowned back at his brother, feeling like there was definitely something he was not being told. Deciding to ignore it for now, he answered Dean's question.

"Bobby's working on the fact that storms really aren't that well known for parking themselves in one spot and deciding to settle down there. We know this one's hung around for at least three weeks or so and it's epicentre stays hovering over one particular location like it's got nowhere else better to be. I think Bobby's idea that it's maybe bound to something is a good one and, like _he_ said, it's not likely to be a living thing that's wandering around dragging a storm after it. Someone in the community would've noticed something like that; whereas _this _storm just appeared kinda...Well..._Out of the blue_?"

Grimacing, Dean groaned loudly at his brother's awful pun.

"Anyhoo...Bobby's fairly sure we're looking for a some_thing_, rather than a some_one." _

"Unless the storm's bound to a _dead _someone? You know. Some old pile of bones got disturbed and that's gone and triggered some strange shitty weather curse?"

"Yes Dean. It might _indeed_ be the work of some strange, skeletal, _shitty_ _weather curse_."

Dean pouted. Sticking his bottom lip out and virtually turning into a six year old before his younger brother's amused gaze.

"Well ... It could be ... _Couldn't_ it?"

Sam laughed at Dean's indignant face before inclining his head toward the dirty pan and dishes.

"Ok. I admit it, it could be. Know what else? Wash up duty's all yours."

"Oh no baby brother, that _wasn't_ the deal!"

-o-

Outside and near invisible against the dark of the night sky, something passed over the isolated shack in silence, it's olfactory senses recognising that there was something new here. Curious, it fixed onto the smell of smoke drifting up the chimney from the fire. As the smoke exited the chimney in wisps, it was almost instantly captured and dragged away, in the grasp of the gusting winds. The thing squinted down at the shack with it's half blind eyes. As well as the fire smoke, it had picked up on some other really interesting scents, and it became very much _more_curious. Swooping down, it landed, perching itself on the roof of the shack.

-o-

After saluting his brother with his bottle of beer, Sam drifted across to an armchair in front of the fire. He had just sat down when there was a thump, the sound seeming to come from outside, up on the roof.

"You hear that?"

Dean was already heading for the door, torch in hand.

"Yup."

-o-

With perfect timing, Dean opening the door of the shack directly coincided with an enormous clap of thunder that then rolled and boomed, echoing around the sides of the deep, circular hollow where the ranger's outpost nestled. His senses already on high alert, the unexpected sonic boom of thunder startled Dean and caused him to hesitate on the threshold of the door, long enough for Sam, in his rush to go after his brother, to collide with Dean, accidentally shoving him ungraciously out of the doorway. Fortunately, Sam's sudden close proximity also meant he could reach out and grab hold of Dean when Dean stumbled and so, save the older Hunter from the indignity of face planting in the mud. Ignoring his sibling and the wind, Dean moved out from the open door and turned, shining the light of his torch up at the shack's roof and, once he was satisfied, directly in to Sam's face.

"What the_ Hell _Sammy?"

Sam held a hand up to his face to block the bright beam of light that was currently hitting him in the eyes.

"Wasn't _my_ fault! How was _I_ supposed to know a bit of thunder was goin' to make you freeze? I stopped you from falling in the mud, didn't I?"

Dean stalked past and back to the shack.

"I _didn't_ freeze, I _paused_. And you're the reason I nearly hit the deck _anyway_!Klutz!"

-o-

Re-entering the warmth of the shack, both brothers ground to a halt. Dean stared down at his soaking wet, mud covered socks, and from there to where his boots were sat drying out in front of the fire.

"Great! That's just _great_!"

Sam held his breath against his impending laughter and began to peel his own sludge laden socks away from his feet. Sensibly staying silent whilst Dean, still muttering, stomped across to his rucksack and began rummaging for a replacement pair at the same time as suffering another round of sneezing, adding in a couple of coughs for good measure. The ring tone from his cell brought both brothers back to attention. Glancing at the caller I.D., Dean hit answer.

"Hey Bobby. You get my message earlier?"

-o-

Bobby Singer knew both his boys well enough to detect the note of irritation in Dean's voice.

"Yeah, 'bout half of it. You two still ok?"

Dean shot his brother a glare.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're both good. FYI, when we're done up here? We're heading straight back to yours, and the first hot shower's mine!

"Little basic up there eh?"

"Bobby...There's a bucket full of water next to the toilet. That's how you flush it! I'm gonna have to implement big brother rights so I get to go first."

"Son, I _really_ didn't need to hear that. Seen anything out the ordinary yet?"

"Nah...Well, maybe...Tell you the truth? I'm not certain."

"Go on."

"Ok, so we both just heard a noise, sounded like somethin' was on the roof. We've looked, but there was nothin' to see. And earlier? I'd gone outside and, I kinda thought I saw something move. When I checked? Nothing that time either. But then there was this, I dunno, screeching, squealing, squawking kinda noise? Didn't sound like anythin' I've ever heard before. Sammy heard it as well. That's it so far. Not much, is it?"

"That depends. Are you tryin' to say there_ is_ maybe somethin' alive that's linked...to ... the ... _Balls_! Dean? Listen, I'll ring you back later. I gotta check somethin' out, ok?"

"You're onto something old man, aren't you?"

"Maybe. I'll let you know. But call me that again kid an' you're riskin' _all_ shower rights bein' withdrawn!"

"Aw Bobby, you wouldn't do that to me?"

"Try me...Look son, you an' Sam watch your backs out there, ok?"

"Always do Bobby. Ring as soon as."

Sam had been watching Dean and listening to his brother's half of the conversation.

"Bobby say what he's thinking?"

Dean shrugged.

"Nah, just that he had to check on something an' that I'm his favourite."

"Jerk."

"S'not my fault, I'm just that adorable!"

-o-

At some point as the evening moved on, the sounds of the rain and the ever present wind became almost reassuring, a familiar background noise that, combined with the comforting warmth of the fire and the embrace of his armchair, led to Sam drifting unavoidably into sleep sometime during a deep conversation considering whether Batman would come out on top if pitted against Iron Man. Dean was theorising that, in their everyday human guises, if the two men had met then they would probably become friends, given that they shared at lot in common, like money. His brother's lack of response alerted Dean to the fact that Sam was no longer with him. For a while Dean simply sat quietly, watching his brother, considering the complex, and at times all too serious, man that he had become. It seemed that with the passing of time, he heard Sam laugh less and less often. Sure, he smiled, but frequently his smile looked sad. It pained Dean more than he cared to acknowledge that the joy had gradually faded out of his brother ever since he had left Stanford at Dean's instigation. The playful, inquisitive two year old that a six year old Dean had adored was long gone. Dean wondered if there had ever been a moment where he had seriously taken the time to think about what the life of being a Hunter would mean for Sam? Dean had to conclude that, whilst he may regularly have expressed the wish that Sam could have a real life; he honestly couldn't claim to have ever considered the issue from that other perspective. His thoughts continued to follow this new trail and he wondered for the first time; if he had ever given more thought to what it really meant to be a Hunter, would he still have gone to Sam that night? Would he have still wanted his brother to be with him? If he was such a brilliant big brother, wouldn't he have wanted Sam doing anything_ but_ Hunting? Wouldn't he, in fact, have pushed for Sam to leave even sooner than he had? And, exactly what kind of older brother was he really? To want Sam by his side_ so_ badly, that he was happy to let his brother risk major injury, or very possibly an early death, virtually every single day? Dean frowned, reflecting on all those times that he had failed to do his job, failed to protect Sam; but it wasn't just about that. It was every missed night's sleep, every stinking bug infested dive of a motel room, every opportunity missed, every chance snatched away, every grease ridden artery clogging meal, every danger, every hurt, every moment spent in some hospital somewhere, every single life threatening situation, that Sammy had ever faced or would face; _that_ was all down to him too. Every day, hour, second of Sam's life as a Hunter was on him. Him and his complete and total selfishness. _He _was the one who had dragged Sam back into hunting and, because of him being a self centred _dick_, as soon as tomorrow, Sam might die. And it would all be his, Dean's, fault.

-o-

The thought made Dean feel dizzy, but it also occurred to him that he was finally seeing things clearly. It was because of him. _He_ was the reason, the _only_ reason, that Sammy never really laughed any more. Their dad had drummed it into him, his only job was to protect Sammy, and all this time he'd never figured it...There was only one thing he'd ever needed to do to protect his Sammy, and that was to stop Sam from becoming a Hunter. The answer had been that simple all along, and the great almighty Dean Winchester had missed it!

"_Shit_!"

His head was pounding and the muscles in his neck and legs had, at some point whilst he'd been sat, begun to ache. Dean glanced at the fire, wondering if it was down to the heat it was throwing out? Now he thought about it, he realised the fire had become uncomfortably hot. Hot enough to make him sweat. Dean covered his mouth with a hand, stifling the urge to cough. He couldn't afford to wake his sleeping sibling right now. He had a job to do, and it _didn't_ involve Sammy. _Nope. Not any_ _more...Not ever 'cos, know what baby brother? I just retired you. Might even buy you a watch 'cos you're done Huntin' an' your my brother so you get to go find a normal life, like you always should'a done._

-o-o-o-o-


	5. Chapter 5

**C5**

-o-o-o-o-

Sam woke still sat in the armchair having slept surprisingly well. At some point during the night, Dean had covered Sam with his sleeping bag and Sam smiled softly at how, even now they were adults, Dean still carried out those kinds of small yet thoughtful actions. and the fire was all but out. Yawning widely, Sam noticed that the fire had all but gone out. He glanced around the shack, seeing that Dean wasn't in the main living area. Settling back in the chair, he waited for his brother to finish in the washroom.

-o-

It didn't take long before Sam sat upright again, realising that there were no sounds of anyone being in the little washroom. His attention went to the coal buckets. Both were still standing to one side of the fireplace, one of them empty. Sam took that as an indication that Dean hadn't nipped out to get more coal, and yet Dean's boots were no longer in front of the fire. With rising concern, Sam turned in his chair and looked towards the door. Dean's coat had gone.

"Crap...Where_ is_ the damn idiot?"

Sam picked his phone up off of the coffee table. No missed messages. He hit speed dial and rang Dean's cell. When Dean's phone began to ring, Sam realised he was hearing it in stereo. Both via his phone, _and_ somewhere close by inside the shack.

"Oh,_ please_! You have _got_ to be kiddin' me! What the Hell are you playing at Dee?"

Sure enough, Sam followed the sound of the ring tone and, glancing around, spotted Dean's cell next to the kitchen sink. Picking up the abandoned phone, Sam saw there were three missed calls. Figuring the last one was his, he checked the other two. They were both from Bobby. He walked across to the window, staring out at the grey and miserable day as he pressed speed dial.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby? It's Sam."

Bobby's response was immediate and he made no attempt to disguise the tone of misgiving triggered by the simple act of Sam ringing him on Dean's cell, especially after Dean had already failed to answer it the two times Bobby called.

"Hey Sam. Not that it ain't good to hear your voice son, it is. But, how come you're ringin' me on your painintheass brother's phone? And why didn't he answer when I called earlier? Where is he?"

Sam tried to sound as casual as he could.

"Not sure...I've, er. I've just woke up. Dean's not indoors but I'm pretty sure he won't have gone far though, you know? Seeing as how his cell phone is here...Um, I'm sorry we missed your calls. Guess we were both whacked and just slept through them. You got some new info for us?"

"Maybe...You _certain_ Dean's ok?"

"Yeah. _Yes_, I am...Why wouldn't he be?"

"Because, and before you ask I've not figured the how's of it yet, I think your noisy night visitor might've been a Thunderbird."

Silence greeted Bobby's revelation.

"Sam? Er, kid? You still there? Talk to me."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm here ... I'm assuming you're _not_ talking about the Lady Penelope, Virgil and co _Thunderbirds are go_ kinda Thunderbird, _are_ you?"

"Well, _Hell_ yeah! That's why I rang! That's _exactly_ what I've been tryin' to tell you! You an' Dean? You're about to be attacked by a coordinated group of little plastic puppets ... ... Of _course_ I don't mean _Thunderbirds are go,_ idjit! Son? Just 'cos your brother ain't there, you _do_ know that don't mean you hav'ta turn into him? _Right_?"

Sam chuckled.

"Sorry Bobby, but, seriously? A Thunderbird? I mean, I've heard stories, seen them carved onto Totem poles...You're telling me that _you, _Bobby Singer, believe they're real?"

"Why not? It's no more crackpot than ghouls, or fairies! Some say it's called a Thunderbird 'cos of the noise it's wings make when it takes off. Other sources claim it's a supernatural creature that has the power to create huge storms. There's even some that believe it can take on human form. There's multiple recorded sightings in Illinois in 1977, and there's reports of sightings around there and in other areas, before and since then."

"Ok, so, has one ever been caught or killed?"

"There's photographs been taken of dead ones, even back in the late 1800's, mostly written off as fakes. Then there's the so called _missin' picture_. Supposed to show a dead Thunderbird stretched out an' pinned to a barn wall with six men standin' in a line, arms stretched out to show how big the thing's wingspan was. Folks claim it can be anythin' from 15 goin' on up to 36 feet! It's even been said the creature's a livin' Pterodactyl! Most folk agree on one thing though, _whatever_ it is, it's a carnivore."

"Fine. Let's assume you're right. How do we get rid if we need to?"

"Folk claimin' to have shot or killed one reported usin' normal bullets shot from a normal gun, apparently."

There was a momentary pause, during which Sam glanced at his watch just as Bobby spoke again.

"Dean not back yet?"

Sam found himself on the verge of looking around to see where Bobby was standing.

"Er...No...Not yet."

"Can't imagine there's many places to visit where you are, is there?"

Something in the shack seemed out of place. Sam's earlier anxiety returned with a vengeance as he carefully looked around.

"Sam? You still hearin' me son?"

Sam paled when he realised what had been bothering him. The ordinance survey map. It was gone! Glancing over his shoulder, his worst fears were confirmed. Dean's rucksack had also gone.

"_Shit...__**Shit**_!"

"Sammy? Talk to me boy!"

"Bobby...I know where Dean's heading..."

"Oh...Hang on...He wouldn't? ... **_Balls_**!

-o-o-o-o-


	6. Chapter 6

**C6**

**-o-o-o-o-**

Dean could feel himself tiring as he pushed on in the face of bombarding winds. Despite the cold, wet sting of the rain, sweat still ran down his face and down the back of his neck. Breathing was starting to feel like hard work, and when he breathed in, he could feel and hear the whirring rattle in his bronchial tubes. Unexpectedly launched into a hard hitting coughing fit, Dean had to grind to a halt. Spitting out what he had coughed up, he continued trying to convince himself, to fool himself into believing that it was nothing _Just a minor sniffle, not gonna be a problem_. Garnering his reserves of strength and ignoring the painful pounding in his head, he set off again across the dark plains, his torch casting a worryingly dim pool of light on the ground a couple of feet ahead.

-o-

The ground underfoot seemed to be getting deeper in mud and Dean was finding it harder to walk without slipping and sliding like his knees were made of jello. The wind too appeared determined to slow his progress even further as it noticeably started to increase in strength. It soon began to feel like a serious competitive sport, with Dean driving forward, and the gale force gusts determinedly trying to force him backwards. His thighs and calves ached with the strain of trying to both keep him upright and maintain his forward motion. His frustration grew when a further bout of coughing stopped him in his tracks and left him gasping for breath. Then came the thunder, crashing and rumbling directly over head. A blinding flash of lightening lit up the sky, and this time there was no uncertainty. Dean _definitely_ saw a blur of movement, a huge, fast moving shape, it's silhouette appearing for a split second when the lightening flared across the sky, then something hit him hard from the side. The torch flew out of Dean's hand and his world became one of frenetic chaos and noise.

-o-

Huge wings pounded the ground either side of Dean, splattering mud in every direction. Sharp talons, each the length of an average dagger, clawed, scraped, slashed and stabbed at every part of the Hunter as he, in return, rolled, kicked, punched, yanked out clumps of feathers; using his whole body in his efforts to escape from beneath the screeching, pecking, flapping monster that stood over him, intent on grasping him firmly with it's gigantic feet. Dean couldn't hear his own shouts and cries above the ear splitting, mind numbing calls and the frantic thrumming of the angry bird's wings thrashing up and down close to Dean's head. The coarse, black feathers torn from the creature's chest by Dean's desperate attempts to defend himself whirled and spun maddeningly around his face, then landed briefly, covering him, confusing him, before lifting and swirling around him in their crazy assed dance again, blown upwards by the air movement created by the bird's wings. Dean somehow managed to scrabble onto his front, madly digging his fingers into the deep cloying mud, desperate to find something,_ anything,_ to give him leverage enough to drag himself out from under the determined, and increasingly agitated, beast.

-o-

In his adrenalin fuelled fight, Dean felt no pain, none of the earlier aching through his muscles and joints, his weary tiredness was gone. Everything about him, every single cell in his body, was tuned into the struggle for survival. Flat to the floor on his stomach, he found himself doing some new fangled, land-locked version of the breast stoke, in a desperate attempt to slide himself bodily through the mud. What he really _hadn't_ planned at all, was to begin lifting off, leaving solid ground like a new hybrid human Harrier Jump Jet.

-o-

An increasing tightness and pressure in his armpits forced his shoulders to hike upwards, immediately making it extremely hard to draw breath, His heart sinking, Dean felt that the impossibly huge bird had managed to get a grip on his backpack, and it was using it as a way to carry Dean; almost like he was the purse, and the backpack was his strap. With the distance between the ground and Dean slowly becoming greater, Dean knew he had to act fast. Straining to reach back around himself with one arm, Dean attempted to grab the Glock tucked in the waistband of his jeans. His searching fingers brushed against the gun's handle. If he could only stretch his arm around just a little more to gain that extra inch, Dean figured he'd have enough of a grip to safely be able to retrieve the gun. He was wrong. He managed to shuffle the thing out from his waistband, but the grip he'd managed wasn't enough when pitted against the weight of the weapon, and it slipped away from his cold fingered grasp, falling to the ground _Plan B then! _ Drawing one leg up towards and against his torso as much as he could, he began with his increasingly numbing fingers to tug at the handle of the small, slender knife he always kept tucked inside his boot. The moment he was clutching the knife securely in his hand, Dean began to slice and saw through one of the shoulder straps of his pack.

-o-

The monstrous bird tilted, initially losing height until it recovered it's equilibrium. The first strap had given way, dropping Dean at an angle, until he suddenly jerked to a halt, screaming at the resulting pain tearing through his shoulder. The entire weight of his body now swung lopsidedly, hanging from the one remaining strap. Once he was roughly half way through slicing and slashing at it, Dean braced himself, getting ready to roll with the inevitable impact that would be the result of his high speed return to earth. Biting his lip against the torturous strain still being loaded onto one shoulder, he dragged his knife through the final part of the backpack's second strap. The instant the strapping snapped apart, Dean fell free of the creature. A hoarse angry, screeching and cawing cry announced the thing had felt the weight of it's prey disappear. It determinedly carried out a swooping turn before plummeting down at a steep angle, landing seconds after Dean and the muddy ground collided.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	7. Chapter 7

**C7**

-o-o-o-o-

"Why the heck would he go do a damn fool thing like go off alone? The jackass don't know what he's walking into! And why the _blazer's_ didn't he take his cell? Sam? _Please,_ tell me you two haven't been fallin' out or somethin'?"

"_No_! No, we're good. I don't get it _either_ Bobby, I don't. I've no idea how much've a head start he's got, but I'm goin' after him. I'll take his cell as well as my own. Anything else you can give me on this Thunderbird? Anything all the different folklore agrees on?"

"Yeah, once you get to the storm's centre, look for some place it could use for shelter, area of good tree cover, a cave, anythin' like that. Has to be big. Think lair rather than nesting spot."

"Ok. I doubt there's any suitable patch of trees from what we've seen of the terrain so far. Last night, Dean had this theory that maybe there's been some kinda ground shift. Say he's right. Suppose something like a sinkhole has opened up? Something sizeable. I know it sounds crazy but, is it possible that these Thunderbirds live underground? Maybe coming topside to hunt for prey?

"Son, _anything's_ possible. _We_ know that more than anybody! An' it's a fact that under our feet ain't always so solid as we'd like. Take Florida. That place is some kinda sinkhole central! An' then there's places like Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, a bloody huge underground cavern an' tunnel system; as well as unproven reports sayin' there's other subterranean caves an' tunnel systems under the Grand Canyon an' a host of other places. _Hell_! One story says an American nuclear sub got lost in tunnels that's supposed to start under the sea then head inland under California! The missing sub's real enough, so maybe the rest of the story's true? Combine your sinkhole theory with the possibility of a major underground tunnel system an', well, I'd say it's as good an idea as any when it comes to where these things go when they're not grabbin' 8 year old boys out of their back yard, or puttin' the wind up office workers and cops in Illinois! I just hope your dumbass brother somehow figures it's a creature he's plannin' takin' on alone; an' don't keep thinkin' he's just on a stroll in the park treasure hunt!"

Bobby's words did nothing to reassure and Sam was desperate to get going after his obstinate brother.

"Look Bobby. I need to sort stuff and go. I'll call you if ..._When_... I find him. Ok?"

"You just mind you do boy! If I've not heard from you or Dean by early evenin', I'll be contactin' the local rescue boys. You hear me?"

"I hear you...I'll call, I promise."

Sam disconnected the call before Bobby could reply, already heading over to his backpack, an inventory scrolling through his mind's eye.

-o-

Staring at the pile of Dean's spare clothes and a well thumbed copy of Busty Asian Beauties, Sam gave a slight sigh of exasperation and shook his head. They, along with all the salt, oil and Holy Water supply they had brought with them, explained how the packs of beer had fit so effortlessly into Dean's rucksack. A spark of hope flared when it became apparent that Dean had at least kept his Glock and ammo. He'd also kept the med kit. Experience taught Sam not to rely on Dean and the med kit still being together by the time Sam found him though. Trying to dispel the instant images of Dean being out in the storm somewhere, injured and alone; he set about raiding anything that could be useful out of the med-kit in the shack's washroom. The basic supplies of food the pair had brought with them were laid out on the kitchen counter. Sam selected a couple of bottles of water. Leaving the non perishables for anyone else coming to the shack, he bagged and binned the bread. Dean's unopened bag of M&Ms however, he dutifully packed.

-o-

He hurriedly changed back into clothing more suited to the weather than the pair of joggers and the tee he was currently wearing. Finally, he was as ready as he could be. Sam took a last glance around the shack before stepping outside. Locking the door, he stuck the key back in the flower pot where Dean had found it. Turning away, he settled his pack, shrugging his shoulders until it felt as comfortable as possible then, placing all his faith in his mental image of the ordinance survey map, he took his bearings and strode purposefully away from the shack. He soon scrambled up the hollow's sloping side and stood once again on the seemingly endless expanse of the high plain, feeling the force of the supernatural storm. Sam didn't pause for breath, leaning into the persistent wind he pushed against it, defiantly moving through it; determined it wasn't going to stop him finding his brother.

-o-

Physically fit, healthy, strong and with purpose, Sam should have made a mile over the landscape of the plain certainly in less than 15 minutes. However, the further he walked towards his destination, the more powerful the wind steadily became, slowing him down, forcing him to fight for every forward step and for every single breath he took. It took Sam nearly twice as long as it should to cover the first mile and, in that time, he spotted no sign to indicate that Dean had ever walked in that same direction; until now that is. With head bowed, his eyes nearly closed against the wind and the comparatively light rain being blown almost horizontally at him, Sam could very easily have missed the shape on the ground a hundred yards to his left were he not frequently raising his head and scanning the landscape for signs of his brother. His initial thought was that the dark shape on the ground was a boulder. However, he knew from experience that some things aren't always what they seem to be. Carrying hope and anxiety in equal parts, Sam changed direction.

-o-

Nearing the rain slicked and mud coated object, it was only once he was close enough to begin to pick out some detail within it's shape and the occasional hint of blue that Sam fully realised what he'd found. The push of the wind and the pin pricks of rain were forgotten, irrelevant. Sam jogged over to Dean's backpack, squatting down next to it. His fingers explored the rips and punctured holes that had been torn into the material of the pack revealing some of it's contents, leaving the thing shredded and unusable. Then his probing fingers found something else. Sam stared at the length of shoulder strap in his hand. Here the damage had a different look, it hadn't been torn, the strap had been cut through, sliced apart with purpose, as had the second shoulder strap. Dean seemed to have intentionally cut himself free from the backpack. An image formed in Sam's mind, Dean under attack by a huge bird like creature, clawing and pecking at him from behind and Dean, taking the only option he could to get away, cutting himself free of the pack..._Then what?_

-o-

Sam began to slowly walk the area, scanning the sodden ground for anything left behind, any signs that might add to the picture of events he was trying to build. At one particular spot he stopped, gazing down at the area of ground directly in font of him uncertainly. Taking a couple of steps back, he tried viewing the spot from a different angle, was the mud more compressed there? Has the sparse low lying shrubby foliage been bent or flattened more than the rest immediately around the area? He tried squinting, not sure whether what he was looking at was the slight shadow of a meaningful shape, or not. Sam glanced up to the rain filled cloud cover in frustration. The state of the ground for miles had suffered under the onslaught of weeks of high winds and almost constant rain. Turning to look back at his own tracks, Sam watched the slight shallows of his closest footprints quickly fill with rivulets of surface rain which carried with it mud and sand and debris that soon settled into the indent, all but erasing the evidence of Sam's _own_ passing. Sam closed his eyes in irritation. When he re-opened them, he spotted an object on the ground some yards away from where he stood. The tracker in Sam easily picked it out as being an unnatural element within the landscape and, despite it's being splattered and smeared in grime, the Glock was such an integral aspect of Dean and Sam's life, he had no problem recognising it. With recognition came trepidation, and the fear he had for his big brother's safety peaked.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	8. Chapter 8

**C8**

**-o-o-o-o-**

Dean was dreaming, his head full of multi colour parrots all excitedly riding on a rollercoaster. He was in the last carriage, for some reason sat next to a panicking giraffe that kept staring down at him with it's huge sad eyes. As they tipped and began the first of the incredibly long vertical descents, every single parrot erupted into noise.

-o-

Eyes stubbornly screwed up closed, Dean was catapulted into a kind of wakefulness by his jack knifing movements caused by his own vicious hacking, retching coughing fit that pushed and strained against his ribs; and he was hot. _No, scratch that, must be cold 'cos I'm shiverin' an' shiverin' 'cos you're hot is dumb ... Maybe I'm both? Nah, 'cos then I'd be in the middle an' that'd be ok ... Who cares ... Maybe I got parrot flu? Whatever, forget it ... Lumpy bed. _He made an attempt to shift onto his side, his movement coinciding with an odd noise that seemed to Dean to be a cross between a rattling noise and the sound of a group of people clapping. His mind pondered the possibility of there being an audience watching him sleep, right before he drifted off again.

-o-

Sam wiped the Glock clean as best he could using a towel that he found in the remnants of Dean's backpack. The weapon was still fully loaded, hadn't been fired which, Sam surmised, meant Dean hadn't had the chance. Finally and undeniably, Sam had to concede that his brother _hadn't_ managed to walk away from this. It was more likely that he had been taken. Sam's eyes again lingered on the slice and dice job that had been done to Dean's backpack, and Bobby's Thunderbird theory began to take on the harsh ring of truth.

-o-

Forcing himself not to dwell on the state of the backpack, Sam began to search through the contents for anything salvageable. Pulling out the med kit tin, he held it and stared at it's metal lid. Just off of centre a hole had been punctured straight through, allowing water to seep inside and wreck most of the wound dressing packs. The loss was irritating, but the hole itself? _That_ was scary. If it_ had_ been made by a bird, whether using it's beak or one of it's talons, it reinforced to Sam that this was no pretty little skylark. His eyes were drawn again to the wreckage of the backpack. No...This was _way _bigger, fiercer and, fully prepared to attack a tall, well built man. Sam's train of thought led to the question of just _how _big this thing must be? He tried to visualise the size of bird it would take to lift Dean, let alone to then carry his brother off! Sam shook his head _It can't be that kinda size...can it?_

-o-

Dean woke again, this time to the blast furnace that was his own body. Initially convinced he must be on fire, his eyes now flew open, and saw only darkness. His heart, which had begun pounding furiously, slowed when he saw no immediate flames. Rubbing a palm across his forehead, he did wonder for a moment whether someone had put out the fire by throwing water over him, before it occurred to his sluggish mind that maybe he was wet because he was sweating, not on fire at all? Deciding he liked that theory the best, Dean chose to stick with it. Feeling happier he turned his thoughts to other, more interesting things, like, how come he was blind? He was pretty certain that his eyes were open, yet everything was still dark. Dean lifted his hand again to check, promptly poking himself in the eye. _Yup...Definitely open, so definitely blind then... That's a bit crap._

A noise like a puff of breath distracted him from his fevered, rambling thoughts. He called out, surprised at how hoarse and croaky his own voice sounded, how much it hurt his throat to speak.

"Lo? S'm?"

Dean recognised the rattley clappy noise from earlier as Sammy moved nearer and, even through his fever, Dean suddenly became aware of a rapid change in the air temperature. It was getting colder. That was important. It meant something. If only Dean could remember what that was?

-o-

Sam managed to salvage a bottle of pain killers, some scissors, dental floss and a pack of needles, everything else in the med kit was fouled. He found a hand towel that wasn't too damp and a dagger that had been protected by it's sheath. He'd also rescued a quart bottle of whiskey and, much to his relief, the keys to the Impala. Adding Dean's brick hammer and folding spade to his own, Sam wrote everything else off. They were simply things; and things could be replaced. His priority was Dean. No overgrown canary was going to get away with taking his brother from him. Tweety Pie was in his sights, and he was getting his big brother back. Sam turned into the wind. _Huff and puff as much as you like, you can't stop me. I won't let you. _Sam resumed his trek with renewed determination. He was a Winchester, and Winchesters don't get put off their hunt by a bit of what Dean had summarised as _shitty weather_!

-o-

Two red slits appeared in the dark above Dean. The slits grew bigger, rounder, forming circular, scarlet eyes centred with round black pupils. The eyes stared coldly down at Dean, occasionally going out, then returning to focus back on him. Dean finally figured the red eyes were blinking, not being switched on and off. As confused and ill as he was, he felt pretty sure Sammy's eyes weren't that big, didn't think they were red either. That meant a Not Sam was looking at him. Curious, Dean slowly reached up with one hand. The eyes seemed to draw back, then rush towards him, and a gut wrenching pain tore through the centre of his hand, causing Dean to pull back with a shocked cry. Another hot lancing pain hit him in his upper chest. Dean scrabbled to curl up into a ball, and the floor slipped sickeningly from under him, his movement dislodging an area of the carefully constructed, steeply sloped mound on top of which he had been laying. That small amount of disruption turned into an cacophony of noise as one side of the large mound began to shift, slowly at first, then speeding up and becoming a fully fledged avalanch, sweeping Dean down along with it, away from the evil red eyes. The noise was deafening, Dean was tumbled and battered downhill amidst rushing ricocheting sharp ridged rocks, spitting smarting shrapnel like pebbles, bouncing balls of boulders and all lengths and thickness of what seemed to be sticks and short branches of wood.

-o-

At last Dean's mad toboggan-free race gradually slowed and came to an end, although the sounds of applause created by sliding and bouncing also rans kept going for a little longer from above him and to either side. Dean lay dazed and gasping for breath, fighting to force oxygen down into reluctant lungs; each inhalation accompanied by whistling sounds coming from within Dean's chest. Stunned, exhausted, hurting and confused, Dean groaned. His whole body felt like a tenderised piece of meat, muscles and joints throbbed and ached in sync. Fever making him hypersensitive, until even the roots of his hair felt tender.

-o-

Whatever he was laid on was hard, angular in places, smooth in others. Dean didn't really care, he desperately wanted to close his eyes, to give in to the ravages of a headache that was rapidly reaching an almost unbearable pitch, drawing further moans from the Hunter, making him feel weak and nauseous on top of everything else. Dean couldn't even begin to fight it, and his eyes flickered closed as he fell still and silent again, unaware of the approaching danger that moved without sound on taloned feet across the haphazardly partially collapsed pile of rubble and bones on which it had originally placed Dean. Impossibly, it disturbed nothing, as it crept nearer to where the unconscious and bleeding Hunter was now laid. Snuffling and scenting the air, it's whole being became fixed on the heady, tangy smell of blood; and a low keening sound began deep in the creature's throat.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	9. Chapter 9

**C9**

-o-o-o-o-

Looking every inch the arctic explorer with his coat hood up and pulled tightly around his face, Sam couldn't help but liken what he was able to see of the world around him to something straight from the pages of the Lord of the Rings, musing on whether that made him Sam Gangee, or more akin to Frodo? He managed a small smile, the idea of himself, all 6 foot 5 of him, likening himself to a Hobbit. He could almost hear Dean telling him that he was more like one of the Ents. As he travelled closer to his goal, the light levels grew even darker in response to the scurrying, rolling clouds becoming thicker, blacker, heavier, making it hard to believe that it was still morning. Underfoot was a quagmire and the muscles in Sam's legs ached with the strain of half walking, half sliding through it all whilst desperately fighting to maintain balance. Sam had already been brought to his knees once, when his foot hit against something solid hidden beneath the layers of slick mud. And, of course, there was the wind. The howling, roaring, tumultuous, hurricane force _son-of-a-bitch_ wind! Sam had already come to the conclusion that, of all the elements, all the varied weather conditions, he now held a special kind of hate for the damn wind above all else. For a brief moment, the light levels lifted. Sam looked upward, unsure whether he had imagined it. He squinted against the rain in time to see the second flare, as sheet lightening backlight an area of cloud. Sam couldn't deny the drama, but he sure as Hell didn't have to like it!

-o-

Steadfastly moving forward, when Sam glanced up at the sky again the sheet lightening had become more frequent but, if nothing else, the flickering light show made the skies less dull. Looking ahead, Sam had no need to pause to consider his bearings and to check that he was still heading in generally the right direction. Up ahead, the pendulous clouds being hurried along like naughty schoolchildren by the fierce headmistress of a gale, were now spiralling around after each other like a swift moving airborne whirlpool; a clear indication to Sam that he was nearing the source of the chaos. Roughly three to four hundred yards ahead on the ground was a wide track of black on the ground, an open wound in the land, and Sam was determinedly and insistently battering his way towards it. Sometimes he had to stop and steady himself against the power of the wind, planting both feet as best he could to avoid getting blown sideways or flat on his butt.

The air cracked apart to his right and, in Sam's personal opinion, _way_ too terrifyingly close, a narrow, blue white streak of forked lightening shot between whirling cloud and the ground. Initially Sam froze at the sight, but then a sudden surge of fury took over, swiftly filling him, burning nearly as bright as the lightening. An overpowering urge to shout at the wind enveloped him, tore through him. He desperately tried to fight the desire to scream out, to tell it to _go screw_, to defy it, to challenge it, to _dare _it until in his head and in his heart, Sam couldn't stand it any longer and he heard his own voice become the crash of wild thunder as he cried out in warning;

_I am the __**Wind Walker**__ and I __**shall **__pass through ... __** No matter what!**_

Shocked, Sam clamped his mouth closed. His cheeks burned and Sam was left feeling more than a little embarrassed, trying to remember if _that_ corny little line was from Lord of the Rings? Or maybe Harry Potter? Thoughts drifting, he wondered if maybe the wind had finally sent him a little crazy? _Flushed me round the bend? Made me go pastry-less pie? One beer short of a six pack? A sandwich without_ _any filling?_ _Jeeze...__**Stop it!**_ _What the Hell's the point in yelling at the wind? C'mon Winchester! Don't you loose it now! __**Focu**__s!_

-o-

Forcing himself to concentrate, to bury the new and disconcerting realisation that he was the tallest thing around in an area of forked lightening and instead, direct all his remaining energy and attention onto the wide chasm in the earth that grew closer with every triumphant step he fought hard to achieve.

-o-

Awareness gradually returning, Dean thought he heard a giggle. He played with the idea of opening his eyes and looking to see where it came from? He was trying to decide, when something tickled him on his upper chest area, and there was the giggle again. _Oh crap! Please, don't let that be me, I don't wanna giggle, girls giggle, don't wanna be a ... Ow! __**Hurt**__! Not funny! Stoppit! _ Trying to wriggle away from what had turned into a heated, stinging sensation, Dean's eyes flew open, and he instantly wanted to vomit. At every exhale, icy pungent breath blew over his face, one horrifying red eye hovered above him, he could feel the brush of feathers against his arm and his face; but it was the stinging, and the sounds that accompanied it, wet slurping noises made his stomach churn and lurch even more. The thing standing over him was delicately lapping blood from his chest wound, using the tip of it's narrow tongue like a cat licking at cream. The rough sandpaper like edges of it's tongue stung Dean's skin either side of the puncture wound, scraping layers away each time it passed over it, each time the creature lapped up more of Dean's blood.

-o-

Dean couldn't help it, he quickly turned his head to the side as his stomach heaved and he pumped up a burning mess of bile and half digested Irish stew. As vomiting turned to dry heaving, Dean sensed the creature watching, waiting. In his fever wracked and weakened condition, Dean could only manage to clumsily shuffle himself a few inches away from the curdled smell of the puke before he wearily laid his head down, closed his eyes and waited to once again become Big Bird's favourite milk shake. When the creature did return to drinking, Dean was torn between relief and feeling completely grossed out. The animal left Dean alone, in preference for the stinking pile of vomit which it was gulping down greedily accompanied by short grunts of satisfaction.

-o-

Sam stood on the edge of the wide crevasse which had opened up in the ground and somehow triggered the appearance of the super cell suspended above it. He was fascinated, though not totally surprised, to discover that here at the storm's epicentre, there was calm. The change from winds that felt like they could tear you face off, to this central oasis of calm had not happened gradually. Instead Sam had discovered an abrupt and dramatic halt to the rabidly frenzied, almost sentient, storm winds that occurred between him taking one step, and the next. Curious, Sam had taken a step back, _Here there be gales,_ then forward again, _Here there be none! _He couldn't help channelling Dean_, Awesome!_ He had no way of knowing whether his brother had passed through this point, and he refused to allow himself to dwell on it. He just knew without any doubt that this was something Dean would love, and he could clearly picture how much fun Dean would've had jumping back and forth. Sam couldn't deny to himself that, given different circumstances, so would he.

_I am the Wind Walker ... I am Storm Chaser ... I am freed_

It was only a small whisper, the tiniest soft breeze of words, so faint they could easily have passed by as a dream. Sam glanced around. Seeing no one, he frowned. Had it come from him? Was he _really_ going Cuckoo's Nest? Feeling more than a little freaked, Sam turned his attention inward. What had made him think that? Maybe the static in the air was messing with his head, or maybe he was just more weary than he had realised? Whichever, he _had_ to stop thinking like some whacko nut job who'd read too many fantasy books, he had a brother to find. Sam began his careful descent into the rocky bottom of the gash that tore through that part of the plains landscape.

-o-

In a small and shallow hollow of earth, half buried at the base of a short stone pillar, a pale blue glow appeared, a tiny little light, which began to stealthily thread it's way through the dark.

-o-

Not concentrating hard enough on where he was stepping, Sam gave a short yelp as he lost his footing. Landing on his backside, he slid just over halfway down the uneven side of the channel before his unfettered slalom was brought to a jarring halt by a large, conveniently placed, rock that didn't budge when Sam collided with it feet first. Sam didn't sit around. He scrambled quickly back onto his feet, his breath coming in short pants. He instinctively looked left and right in the time honoured _did anyone see that?_ tradition.

-o-

Focusing once more, Sam began a slithering, sliding, side stepping walk the rest of the way down the slope until he was finally on the rocky, boulder strewn bottom of the newest plains land feature.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	10. Chapter 10

_**To "Guest" who left a review for C9 - Wow! Thank you, really! Your review is amazing and  
**__**honestly way much more than I **__**deserve from anyone. You made my day :D Chick xx**_

**C10**

-o-o-o-o-

There is choice, there is decision, whether informed or not. There's considered action or inaction, there is intent, purpose, plan and design, certainty and impulsive _what the hell_. Goals and objectives can be set, strategies thought through, procedures agreed and implemented, guess work and experimentation can lead on to success. There are also those times when all of these, and things like them, are washed away. And when that happens? Then you have only instinct. Right now, it was a Hunter's instinct which drove Dean Winchester. He had no idea where, exactly, he was, or what he was doing there. Didn't understand how come Big Bird had turned evil? Was fascinated by how _really_ big he seemed in real life! Not that Dean could see so much of him. Someone had turned the lights out on Sesame Street. But, the thing _did_ have _huge_ red eyes and a niggling feeling suggested that maybe Dean ought to move away...Far away.

-o-

Instinctively, Dean recognised that trying to get away was more important than any aching bones, headaches bruises and everything else. It was more important than all of his hurt, and so, as best as he was able, Dean painfully turned his whole body away from Big Bird and his lunch _Crappy_ _table manners_ and slowly began to half crawl, half drag himself through the loose stones and ..._Sticks? Sticks n' stones may break my...Bones?..._ as best he could. Clumsily feeling his way, his hands suddenly found the bottom of the partially collapsed mound of rubble and Dean touched the gritty, earthy floor of whatever this place was and, grunting with effort, he pulled himself from the rock pile and fully onto a floor that felt like the softest of all mattresses in comparison.

-o-

Suffering from the sensation of a tightening band having been clamped firmly around his chest, seemingly reducing his ribs ability to move, and lungs that seemed to have developed some kind of slow leak and were refusing to fully inflate, along with a feeling like his airways were less than fully open, Dean had to pause and give himself time just to try to regulate and relax his breathing from it's current wheezing, blowing and desperate gasping. He could hear the infection ruttling and thrumming in his lungs and bronchial airways, but he didn't have the energy or the air reserves to cough effectively. Dean raised his head a little off the comfortable floor, vaguely wondering what he should do next? As he pondered the issue, it suddenly occurred to him that the darkness didn't seem quite so, well, _dark_ any more. His instant reaction was to panic. In his befuddled and over heated mind he'd decided there was only one possible explanation, his eyes must be changing. Dean just _knew_ that they had begun to grow bigger...And rounder...And were switching from green into red! He figured that the bigger and rounder and redder they got, the better he would be able to see in the dark. _But, maybe chicks don't like me all big red googly eyes? Might hav'ta use a mask fore c'n get laid! Wonder if'n I get one like Batman's? __**He**__ pulls hot chicks __**easy**__!_ Dean cheered up a little. Resting his head back down on the floor, he began mentally running through a hazy list of masked superheroes, trying to decide which mask he'd look űber cool in, forgetting entirely about his attempt to find a way out, and oblivious to the creature silently coming looking for him.

-o-

Down in the bottom of the gully, Taurus in hand, Sam began to slowly walk along it's length, eyes peeled, sweeping the channel's inclines in the half light, hoping to spot any significantly darker patches against the gully sides that might indicate an opening to somewhere big enough to provide shelter to a decidedly overgrown hen. A couple of times Sam headed up the uneven slopes to check out potential openings, only to discover that they were actually just shallow hollows in the face of the inclines, three or four feet in depth at most. Sam's rising frustration gnawed at him and he briefly thought about shouting his brother's name in the hope that Dean's answering yell would guide him to the right spot. Not focusing on his feet, the tenuously balanced rock that Sam was standing on, wobbled dangerously, and Sam had to fling both arms out to the sides, much like a high wire act, to recover his balance an avoid being tipped off the rock. Berating himself for being such a klutz, a scowl marred his handsome features.

-o-

A clacking and whirring sound aroused Dean's curiosity enough for him to leave his mask choosing project and half open his eyes to look in the direction the odd sound had come from. His eyes opened wider at the sight of the creature carefully high stepping towards him, moving out of darkness into the blue shadow light. The thing's long pointed beak repeatedly opened and closed, creating that irritating clacking noise, whilst the whirring appeared to come from it's throat, like a cat with a deep, but wonky, purr. It seemed to Dean that Big Bird was having a really bad hair day. It wings were coated in black feathers, and there were tufts of short black feathers sparsely covering it's protruding chest. The rest of it however was bald, leathery looking, putty coloured skin. Dean's attention was captured by the shape of thing's head, sweeping upwards from the forehead region into a point, making it look like the bird was wearing a hard, bony dunces hat. Dean thought he had seen that shape before _P'raps inna book_? _Yeah, must've been a book...Film. Seen it inna film...Whassit, had the big mean fugly rockin' water...An' Santa Clause, he was innit too... _Lowering it's head closer to Dean, he and the creature stared at one another. _Freakin' Pterodactyl! Tha's it! Tha's you...__**Damn**__, you one __**ugly**__ lookin' sonbitch!_

-o-

Sam moved along the channel bottom as quickly as he dared, more fearful now of slipping and injuring himself, of leaving himself physically unable to get to his brother. Every few yards, he stopped, making certain his footing was as solid as possible, before carrying out a meticulous visual search ahead and up the side inclines of the mini canyon before moving on again, and repeating the painstaking process, fighting to quell the desire to move more urgently about his task.

-o-

At last Sam's relatively sedate pace and his thorough scrutiny of the area seemed as if it might have paid off. From where he was standing, the opening at the base of the embankment some twenty yards ahead on his right certainly _looked_ sizable enough. Only when he stood in front of it however, would he be able to see whether the hollow went back far enough to actually provide the size of accommodation necessary to house a Thunderbird. Shrugging off his backpack, Sam squatted on the floor beside it and began to remove both offensive and defensive items and weaponry, including Dean's Glock, placing the things he thought he might need quickly so that they were to hand, safely spread about his person. Sam carried the Taurus in his hand, Dean's gun he secured down the back of his jeans. With a last check that the small torch he had on him was functioning, Sam finally slung his backpack on again and straightened up. Despite his feelings of trepidation and anxiety, Sam's expression remained resolute and he cautiously judged every footstep, trying not to make a sound, as he honed in on his goal.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	11. Chapter 11

**C11**

**-o-o-o-o-**

Standing with his back pressed against the rise of the chasm and to one side of the cave's opening, Sam kept his body out of view from anyone who might be inside. Moving his head only as much as necessary, he glanced into the cave entrance, then quickly pulled his head back, waiting for any sound that would indicate his presence had been noticed. Hearing nothing, Sam reached for the Taurus, holding the gun firmly in one hand as he moved himself to stand in front of the cave mouth. Satisfied that his sudden appearance had garnered no reaction, Sam lowered the gun and peered into the cave. It's depth was unclear, the dimly lit entrance leading back a short distance before then disappearing into pitch black darkness. This alone was enough to satisfy Sam that the place almost certainly had the capacity enough within it to provide more than adequate shelter for a creature the size that Sam had estimated the Thunderbird had to be. Even the momentary extra visibility provided by the frequent flashes of brilliant white lightening that sheared the sky in half did little to show how far back the cave extended. Sam closed his eyes, conjuring up an image of his brother standing by his side, bringing to mind Dean's familiar and comforting scent, hearing Dean's voice telling him to _Get a move on_, imagining the pressure of Dean's hand on his shoulder, preparing to guide him. When Sam opened his eyes again, he knew. This _was_ the place. Somewhere here, within the cavern's depths, was his brother. He'd never understood just how his sixth sense in respect of Dean worked, but experience had taught him to trust in it. Sam was confident. He had no doubt. He had finally arrived at his destination.

-o-

Sam had no further hesitation, his sole priority was now firmly fixed on finding his brother, determined he was going to get Dean out of there. Feeling assured, Sam strode in to the cave. He was immediately caught by how much cooler the air felt on the inside, and how much softer the floor beneath his feet was in comparison to the rough, loose rocks and stones which formed the trail he'd had to walk along to get here. Sam allowed himself to take a moment to slow his breathing and then to simply stand and listen, focusing on picking up any kind of sounds that might indicate movement emanating from deeper within the cave. When, after a while, Sam had heard nothing, he began to move again, continuing onward, going further into the cave and having to rely on the chance that he might pick up on some kind of sign, or hear sounds that would warn him when either Dean or the Thunderbird, or both, were nearby. He desperately hoped that he would have the good luck to see either one of them before they noticed _his_ presence.

-o-

Activating his small torch, Sam directed the beam down at his own feet, praying it would suffice both to highlight any potential risks underfoot and, at the same time, not be immediately spotted by whatever living thing he may come across. With his every sense set to high alert, Sam began to travel steadily along the unknown route that led him ever deeper into the cave.

-o-

It quickly became clear that the original cave actually served only as the entry point to a spacious and gently winding tunnel and, one hand held flat to the left of the tunnel's hard and solid feeling walls as a guide, the Hunter followed it's path.

-o-

Dean's voice was little more than a rasping croak.

"_Gerroff, leggo. M'not goin' roller coaster. __**No**__...S'too many parrots_."

Using his free hand, he batted at the Thunderbird's long beak and pulled at it unsuccessfully in his efforts to release the creature's hold on his other arm. The Thunderbird had clamped down firmly on one forearm, punching through the layers of clothing and into Dean's flesh with the small sharp serrated teeth which rimmed both the upper and the lower parts of it's beak, and it was now walking backwards, determinedly dragging the weakly struggling man back towards it's nest. The blue light had grown stronger, enough for Dean to notice patches of black spreading out on the sleeve of his coat from around the area that was in the grasp of the creature. Despite the raging fever messing with his head, Dean still recognised the staining as probably coming from him not the bird and that, generally, it wasn't a good thing. Feebly he tried again to break free, whilst at the same time wondering why Sammy had gone and got himself such a massive, freaky looking pet in the first place? He decided that he needed to have a serious talk with the kid _Should'a gotta goldfish first like normal kids, or an 'amster...or sumthin' ... Don' feel so good, think mebbe m'poorly...don' like it, don'likeS'mybird ... don' ... _The Thunderbird felt the moment that it's prey grew limp and compliant. Unopposed now, the creature continued on with the task of moving it back to the partially collapsed nest.

-o-

Closing his eyes, Sam turned off the torch before opening them again. Still not completely trusting in what he thought he was seeing, he closed both eyes again and stood motionless for a brief period. Re-opening them, Sam frowned, puzzled. The darkness had definitely been cut through and lifted a fraction by the faintest hint of blue light. Glancing around, trying to locate it's source, Sam's whole being suddenly and unexpectedly tensed and he unconsciously held his breath. There was something close by, something that made sounds that Sam could actually feel, rather than hear...And the fine hairs at the back of his neck and on his forearms tickled and raised up in response. A shiver ran throughout his body as the physical sensation translated itself into words

_I am the Wind Walker..._

-o-

_Ok...Well...That was different...Good to know I haven't been goin' Lady Gaga, I guess. _Along with Sam's realisation and relief that the words he had been hearing were not something within him, that they weren't part of his own musings or imaginings; came indecision. He had no clues to indicate who or what the words _were_ coming from, no sign to show whether they were allied with good or evil, no idea why he could hear it, what it might want, or even whether the words he heard were nothing more than the final ghostly echoes of something that had been spoken aloud long ago in the distant past.

-o-

There was no one else who could advise or aid him in the question of whether or not he should make some attempt at communication. In the end, it was the Hunter in Sam that decided, all be it reluctantly, that he couldn't just ignore it. He had to give it a go, test out whether or not the words were an attempt at making contact with him, and risk any consequences. Taking a calming breath, Sam simply couldn't stop his self-conscious cringing when he heard the sound of his own quiet voice, as he awkwardly spoke the immortal three words.

"Is anybody there?"

**-o-o-o-o-**


	12. Chapter 12

**C12**

-o-o-o-o-

His cheeks flush with embarrassment and feeling a total bozo for uttering such a corny line, Sam politely hung around for a few moments, allowing the space for an answer, should there be one. Sam felt even more abashed when, as he had expected, none was forthcoming. He was relieved that at least Dean would never have to know about his moment of sounding like a Séance Cedric. Sam could do little more than begin walking again, his hand against the tunnel wall indicating that the route was now bending to the left. As Sam cornered along with the trail, a sudden and unexpected breeze gently ruffled his hair, then was gone. Sam to came to a halt, perplexed. He tried taking a couple of steps backwards, wondering if there was a crack in the tunnel wall which had allowed the breeze to come through from elsewhere, but now the air in the tunnel was completely still. Sam frowned and continued on his way. He'd gone another roughly twenty yards, when again he felt a soft breeze in his hair and on his face. Coming to a halt, Sam glancing around, and realised that the previously faint hint of blue light had grown stronger, nearly, though not quite yet, reaching a level that meant he no longer needed the torch. With a jolt, Sam also tuned into something else; the air around him had, very quickly, turned some degrees colder, and an internal alarm was instantly triggered.

"_Shit_!"

-o-

Sam quickly removed the backpack from his shoulders. Placing it on the floor, he knelt beside it. With a growing sense of urgency, Sam began to grope around inside the pack, at the same time visually scanning the area all around. His searching hand closed around Dean's gun and he extracted it from the bag, putting it on the floor close by, before stuffing his hand back into the depths of his pack. Relief flooded through him when his fingers closed over what he had been searching for. With quick efficiency Sam removed the clip from his own gun and replaced it with a new one from out of the backpack. Keeping Dean's gun in his hand, Sam stuffed the Taurus through the belt around his jeans. Satisfied, he closed up his pack, once again hanging it from his shoulders and settling it against his back, before getting up onto his feet. Patting his coat pockets to check he hadn't dropped anything, Sam was at last ready to continue following the tunnel. He had only taken a few steps, when his worry received a sharp prod.

_I am Storm Chaser_

Sam made the conscious decision not to react, but to ignore the whispered words hovering around him and to simply keep on walking. He maintained his observation of the strange blue glow, fully expecting that the light level would become brighter the further into the tunnel he walked. Logic told him that, in all likelihood, it was the glow from some kind of phosphorous lichen or other, but ... There was always a _but_.

_I am freed_

-o-

A possibility occurred to Sam and, whilst he walked, again he acknowledged the drifting, disembodied voice with a question.

"What colour are you?"

His answer didn't come in words, but it did bring with it the thrill of inspiration to Sam.

"Bobby was right about an artefact, an' I'm guessin' you're _it_!"

No longer having the need for his torch, Sam turned it off and stuffed it into a pocket. With renewed energy, Sam began to move more quickly, set on tracking down the source of the blue light and, hopefully, his brother.

-o-

"_Enough...finish it...please_..."

His voice was now barely a whisper and begging was all Dean had left to do as he was dragged uphill through the scattered bones of both animals and humans, over rough rocks and shards of sharp edged stones, one arm still in the grip of the Thunderbird's jagged toothed beak, the muscles in that arm and shoulder stretched and strained so far that Dean was sure they would tear apart at any moment, his body so wracked with illness that nothing meant anything to him anymore and all he wanted was for everything to end.

-o-

As the creature dragged it's prey around a large and irregular shaped rock, one of the many rips and tears in the back of Dean's coat became entangled and hooked over one of the rock's sharp, angular extensions, abruptly bringing the creature's own efforts to a sudden halt. Not willing to give in, the creature tried tugging again, serving only to draw a strangled moan of pain from it's prey. Instinctively recognising the need for more strength, the Thunderbird adjusted it's grip and clamped down harder on it's prize, then slowly it began to unfold both wings, spreading them out from it's body until they were fully open. There seemed to be a tremor in the air when the creature drew it's wings back until they were fully raised. There was a moment when the wings reached their high point and everything stilled. Nothing moved, not the wings, not the bird, not it's prey, not the air. Everything was in complete silence, the kind of muffled silent stillness which occurs just before the storm breaks. And then the Thunderbird swooped it's wings down and forward, pushing at the air in front of them, hitting it with an unnatural amount of compression and pressure, causing the air to crack and erupt, filling the nest chamber with the drum rolling roar of thunder, drowning out the sound of Dean's scream. Again and again the Thunderbird flapped it's immense wings, pounding at the air, using the additional force as a way to assist in it's endeavour to get Dean up onto the top of the remaining portion of the nest mound. The creature was uncaring of the secondary impact of the vibrations caused by the waves of crashing thunder, as more loose rubble was dislodged, skittering and tumbling chaotically on it's rapid descent to the tunnel floor.

-o-

Having achieved it's goal, the Thunderbird carefully lowered it's wings and delicately folded them back up against it's body. Throwing it's head back, it opened it's beak and let out a caw of triumph. On his back in the centre of the rocky nest mound, Dean lay senseless, a trickle of blood tracking from each ear, moving down and, finally, seeping into his hair.

-o-o-o-o-


	13. Chapter 13

**C13**

-o-o-o-o-

Startled, his heart pounding, head instantly throbbing and ears ringing, Sam threw himself flat against the side wall as the sudden deafening, and impossible, sound of thunder reverberated incessantly from deeper within the tunnel system. The noise of ten thousand galloping wild horses headed Sam's way, and he clamped both hands over his ears. The tumultuous, mind numbing rumble from further down the tunnel blazed onward, sprinting towards Sam, and coursing past him. The noise seemed almost like a living thing, swirling and coiling in a frenzy, urgently needing an exit, writhing around, eagerly seeking the way out, frantic for it's release from the claustrophobic confinement of the tunnel.

-o-

Buffeted and lost within the terrifying apocalyptic noise, Sam cried out Dean's name.

-o-

The Thunderbird jerked it's head around and stared towards the tunnel. The nostrils sited on it's beak flared as it sniffed the air and it began to rapidly click it's beak open and closed, creating a whirring noise that sounded much like a loose flap of tarpaulin being buzzed in a breeze. Looking back down at it's silent prey, the Thunderbird bent it's neck and, utilising it's beak, began to nudge at Dean's body, finally rolling the Hunter onto his front. Pulling back, the creature made small mewling noises in it's throat whilst staring down at Dean, as though waiting to see whether he made any movement. After a minute or so, the creature nuzzled it's beak against the tattered and torn back of Deans coat. Still garnering no reaction, the creature tilted it's great head on one side as though trying to solve a puzzle, or come to some kind of decision. It bent down to Dean again, this time placing the very tip of it's beak against the back of Dean's head and again rapidly opened and closed it's beak a fraction, clacking the tip of it's beak quite gently against Dean's head, mussing his hair and fussing over him, almost as if it was grooming him. Completely unaware of anything, there continued to be no responsive sound or movement from the Thunderbird's prey. At last the creature appeared satisfied and, turning it's back on Dean, it began to descend the nest mound, making no sound and without disturbing even one small pebble on it's way back down to the tunnel floor. With a quick shake of it's head and the rustling sound of it shaking it's wing feathers straight, the Thunderbird began to stalked up the tunnel, curious to see what it was that carried a scent with it that was so similar to this one? Was it the same sort of animal that had made the sound which had entwined itself in and out of the creature's thunder, and which the Thunderbird's hyper-sensitive hearing had tuned into? Like the animal waiting on the nest, was this new thing also something good to eat? Excited about the possibility, the Thunderbird quickened it's pace.

-o-

Silence had made a welcome return to the area surrounding Sam. Shaken, dazed, stunned, he remained where he was, slumped with his back up against the wall of the tunnel, needing it's support, it being the only reason Sam was still even vaguely upright. He was breathing heavily, and still felt the echoed remnants of the sound of the thunder train reverberating in his ears. Behind half shuttered eyelids, Sam's hazel green eyes were glazed, still, unfocused, and he stayed motionless almost to the point of catatonia, whilst internally his mind was pre-occupied with the battle to try and process what had just occurred, to understand it and to come to terms with it.

-o-

Slowly, gradually, Sam's breathing began to return to normal and his eyes started to sluggishly cast around the immediate area. Sam was surprised to see no evidence that told of the thunder's passing. He let his throbbing head drop forward until his chin almost rested on his chest, and wondered if the high pitched single tone whistle in both his ears was destined to become a permanent fixture? An image of Bobby drifted into his mind's eye. Sam knew the man would want to know every detail of his and Dean's encounters with a Thunderbird in order that any useful information could then be shared throughout the Hunter community. Right now, Sam wasn't sure he _ever _wanted to relive this particular moment, even if it _was_ purely as a narrative. With a groan, Sam pushed himself away from the support of the tunnel's wall and experimented with standing unaided. _So far, so good._

-o-

Waiting for the tremble in his legs to subside, Sam took stock. His head felt like Fred Flintstone was sat in there breaking up rocks, and the damn whistle didn't seem like it was going to quit anytime soon, his lower back ached _Gotta be from that exhilarating slide halfway down the chasm sides_ and he just _knew_ he'd bruised his butt during that same journey; but, he figured that overall, he was good to go. And, at least he now knew for certain that he was heading in the right direction, depending entirely, of course, on your definition of "right". Sam also noted that the tasks ahead of him seemed to have become threefold, he mentally jotted down his Hunter's shopping list. _Ok. So, there's find this Wind Walker thing. Also should try to figure out if there's some connection between whatever it is and the Thunderchicken. Find and gank said Thunderchicken. Really shouldn't be too hard to spot, look for the nearest bloody big bird thingy And...Get my brother ba... _That was the trigger for Sam's lungs to take over and decide to completely empty themselves of air, leaving Sam frantically trying to remember how to breathe, finally drawing in a deep, shuddering, gasping breath. _Dean! _

-o-

Until this moment, the very real possibility that he might have managed to get to this point, only to discover that he was far too late and that, in fact, the Thunderbird had already killed his brother outside, on the open plains, back at the area where Sam had discovered Dean's wrecked backpack, had been very effectively suppressed. Sam had coped this far by hiding that thought, pushing it somewhere down deep inside, locked away in an imaginary box with **Do** **Not Open **stamped all over it. Now though, without warning, that box had exploded into tiny pieces. The feelings that poured out of it's shattered remains quite literally took Sam's breath away. So much so that it created a physical pain in his gut which had him abruptly doubling over, clutching at his stomach whilst still fighting to keep pulling air into his lungs. Throughout it all, inside Sam's head drummed and reverberated with a desperate, and persistently repeated, panic stricken mantra. _Please no, please no, please no.._.

-o-o-o-o-


	14. Chapter 14

_Apologies in advance at my non English scripting on this occasion.  
__And, if it accidentally translates into something rude, please rest  
__assured, __**no offence is intended**__ either ethnically, culturally or spiritually._

**C14**

-o-o-o-o-

Right then it would have been all too easy for Sam to let himself collapse onto his knees and to stay there, rocking. But Sam had the Winchester genes in him and the memories of a military style voice barking orders at him so, instead of giving in to the building desire to curl up and quit, he obeyed the remembered sound of his father and forced himself to straighten up; reminding himself, that there was _still_ the chance that his brother was very much alive and relying on him. Somewhere along this underground tunnel, Dean could be waiting, needed Sam to find him, probably holding on purely by hanging onto his faith in Sam. There was no _way_ that Sam was about to let his big brother down! Telling himself that, even in the event of his worst case scenario turning out to be true, then the very_ least_ he could do for Dean was to waste the thing responsible. A new resolve flowed through him and, still watching to see if the level of blue light increased any, Sam doggedly set out, following the tunnel down, taking himself closer to where the thunderous noise had originated from.

-o-

When the tunnel next curved, it led Sam into a much wider area which, at first glance, looked completely chaotic. It appeared as if some kind of major rock fall had occurred at some time within the space. Sam didn't miss the fact, however, that the levels of blue light increased a little again as he walked slowly into the chamber. Scanning around, Sam saw chunks of stone, some nearly as tall as himself, right down to piles of small chippings, all scattered seemingly haphazardly throughout the floor of the chamber. Looking up, Sam could see a number of hollows and indents in the chamber walls and roof. Sam surmised that some of the lumps of stone on the floor had once sat up in the indents until they worked loose over time, finally succumbing to the irresistible pull of gravity.

-o-

Sam's gaze hovered over one particular lump of fallen rock. Curious, he made his way over to it, something about it warranting a closer inspection. Squatting down, Sam ran the fingers of one hand gently over the stone's weathered surface. Laying on it's side on the ground, the piece itself was around eighteen inches in length and surprisingly tubular in it's shape, very much as though it had once formed part of a larger pillar. It was obvious to Sam that he was looking at something far too defined and precise to be natural, human hands had evidently been responsible for the form and shape of this stone. His attention was drawn to one end of the object, where it had clearly cracked and sheared diagonally away from another piece. Here his fingers traced shallow shapes cut into the smooth surface, and Sam recognised them as carved letters and symbols. Both curious and excited, Sam traced each letter slowly, reproducing the shape he felt by using a finger to mimic the individual shapes, quickly drawing them into the gritty sand floor. Sam stared at what he had produced.

FrᎡᎡᏙm ᎢᏍ ᎣᎤr rᎢght

Sam's eyebrows arched in recognition, not so much of the words themselves, but of the form and style of each letter and symbol.

"Cherokee!"

Sam promptly began to scan around the area, looking for other pieces amongst the littered cavern floor that had, or could have, been shaped by human hands. Checking each piece he saw carefully, those on which he discovered further Cherokee writings and which he was able to move, he placed next to his original find. Alongside each chunk, Sam reproduced what he could of the script by drawing it in the sand, carrying out his task swiftly and efficiently.

-o-

Standing back, Sam scrutinised each of his marks in the sand in turn. He felt his heartbeat quicken at two lines, both copied from the same broken piece of stone and seeming to Sam to be partial sentences that had separated from some larger section of carved writings.

cᎠll Ꭳn tᎮ Ꮻld ᏍtᎣrm

rᎢᏕ tᎮ tᎱnᏕrbᎢrd

Honing in on the shape and formation of the last word in each line, Sam felt almost certain that he was looking at the words "storm" and "Thunderbird". What Sam took to be the word for storm he noticed was repeated in another of his sand writings; and then Sam's heartbeat took a further leap.

-o-

It felt very much like a persistent and annoying itch in the centre of Sam's back that he could almost, but not quite, reach, as Sam fixed on the shapes in the sand by the side of the last piece of stone he had laid out.

ᏌcrᎡd tᎣ ᏍtᎣrm CᎭᏎr

There was the word he assumed translated into storm again, but something about the words around it pulled at him, demanded to be recognised. Intuitively, Sam took a step back and, half closing his eyes, tried squinting at the words. He couldn't stop himself from accompanying his triumphant grin with shouting out a pure Deanism.

"_Yahtzee_!"

And, in return, the soft blue glow grew brighter still, as if eager to share in Sam's moment of celebration, a moment which turned out to be all too brief when, for no apparent reason, the temperature of the air within the cavern changed, plummeting dramatically.

-o-

Sam's reflexes kicked in a fraction after his sudden ability to see his own expelled breaths. Glock already back in his hand, he spun around, and found himself looking at a living fossil which had silently moved into the cavern from the opposite side to where Sam himself had entered. The creature had raised it's weirdly shaped head and was moving it from side to side, whilst sniffing at the air.

-o-

Sam didn't bother with any comment or pre-amble, his simply raised the Glock, and shot at the Thunderbird; the bullets hitting twice in it's chest area and once in the neck. Startled, the Thunderbird staggered backwards a little before throwing back it's head and opening it's long, narrow beak, Letting out a scream of rage, the bird partially lifted and spread it's huge wings. What the creature _didn't_ do, was go down. Instead, it fixed on Sam with it's short sighted glare. Sam lifted the gun, readying to shoot again; he distinctly recalled Bobby saying normal bullets would kill this thing, but it seemed like someone had forgotten to ensure this tiny piece of intell was then forwarded on to the Thunderbird!

**-o-o-o-o-**

OMG! _How_ many views?! **: o  
**Chick x

Translation (What the symbols are _supposed_ to read)

cᎠll Ꭳn tᎮ Ꮻld ᏍtᎣrm - ...call on the wild storm...

rᎢᏕ tᎮ tᎱnᏕrbᎢrd - ...ride the Thunderbird...

ᏌcrᎡd tᎣ ᏍtᎣrm CᎭᏎr - Sacred to Storm Chaser


	15. Chapter 15

_Purely for the flow of the story, this next part is less than the usual chapter length.  
__(That really means it seemed __**way **__too much of a cliffie line not to end this where it does)_

**C15**

-o-o-o-o-

Sam spotted the slight quiver in the Thunderbird's body which signalled it's intent to charge, and he was already on the move before the creature had taken it's first step. Leaping over and dodging between smaller slabs of stone, Sam skidded around and behind a large upright, putting it between himself and the oncoming creature. Neck stretched forward, beak slightly open, the Thunderbird careered in Sam's direction at a speed that caught Sam off guard, and he was only just able to avoid the clacking beak, as the Thunderbird whipped it's head around the monolith behind which Sam had taken shelter. Sam ducked into a roll, feeling the rush of air as the bird's beak swept through the space that his head had only just vacated. Sam came out of his roll onto his knees and up against another tall hunk of rock, firing two shots almost immediately. Only one scored a hit, grazing the Thunderbird on one side of it's face and, thereby, serving to simply enrage the creature further. The Thunderbird held it's partially unfurled wings away from it's sides as it threw itself at Sam's rock, thudding against it with it's head, knocking the upright pillar of rock hard enough to dislodge it and send it crashing backwards, Sam only narrowly avoiding being beneath the thing when it fell, breaking apart into three pieces when it hit the ground. Running again, Sam took a pot shot back over his shoulder, hoping to get the thing to hesitate in it's race to catch hold of him more than expecting the wild shot to do it any damage, as Sam desperately needed a few seconds grace. He launched into a baseball slide, coming to a halt behind a squat, broad rock, his hand already reaching to the back of his jeans for his Taurus. The Thunderbird's head and neck appeared over the top of the rock behind which Sam had taken shelter. Sam reacted by aiming his Taurus straight up, and firing off a single salt round, hitting where the lower section of the creature's beak joined it's head. The Thunderbird blinked out of existence with a startled squawk.

-o-

Bent double, hands on knees and panting heavily, Sam considered the implications of what had just happened. Real bullets only seemed to annoy the animal, but the way the salt round had effected it? It pointed to one logical conclusion in Sam's experience... The Thunderbird he had just come face to face with didn't exist. Not as a living, breathing creature anyway. It appeared that _this_ one, at least, was some kind of spirit.

-o-

The only movement was a slight shift in the positioning of his head, which was closely followed by a piteous moaning sound that became a weak, whispering voice.

"_Ammy_..."

Although he waited hopefully, there were no answering words of reassurance, no hand placed against his forehead, no glass of water held to his lips. There were no sounds to suggest that there was anyone else around at all, only complete and absolute quiet. Dean tried again, desperately fighting to retain his sensibilities, stay with it long enough for him to voice the uncensored, raw admission which was guaranteed to rouse the person who mattered to him above all else into action.

"_Ammy?_ _Nee...Need elp ..._"

In the all embracing silence that followed Dean's hushed plea, he began trying to reason out why he was being ignored, using thought processes fractured and entangled by fever, infection and pain. And he arrived at a simple understanding, and a full acceptance of the reality in his mind that he had been abandoned. With no reason to fight anymore, Dean submitted without protest to the familiar grasping tendrils of darkness, certain but uncaring that it was for the last time, that he would not be waking again.

-o-

Sam was very aware that the Thunderbird spirit could, and would, reappear at any time, that the salt rounds could only serve to give him some respite, but that they in themselves wouldn't kill the thing. Sure, he could sit himself down like an overgrown pixie, protected inside a circle of salt, but _that_ wouldn't help him find Dean. Besides; Sam was pretty sure that just one flap of those outsized wings would create a big enough gust of air to completely poof his salt circle out of existence. Looking around the chamber, Sam figured he had a pretty clear idea of what he needed to do. The storm, the spirit, most likely bound by one thing. He needed to find Storm Chaser, and _that_ meant trying to buy himself enough time to search the chamber he was currently standing in.

-o-

It was a nerve wracking game of hide and seek, in which Sam was having to fulfil both roles, and he was tiring. He _had_ to find the damned thing responsible for illuminating the chamber soon, before the law of averages kicked in and the Thunderbird's random reappearances led to a face full of feathers for Sam, and the angry creature sitting directly on top of him! The latest, and by Sam's count third, appearance had caught Sam squatting down, staring at the writing on an upright stump that was the bottom section of what had once been a taller column of stone. The spirit had coalesced almost directly behind Sam, resulting in a panic stricken shot that had only just managed to graze the monster, despite it's close proximity. Currently Sam was sat with his back against the partial column, legs stretched out, gun in hand, whilst Sam worked to calm his shattered nerves and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the feeling of warmth against his back.

-o-

Sam suddenly sat bolt upright. _Warmth? _He quickly shuffled around until he was knelt, facing the remains of the column and, with some hesitation, he placed the palm of one hand onto the stone. Against bare skin it felt more than pleasantly warm, the stone was verging on hot, and Sam's touch detected the tiny, continuous thrum of vibrations which seemed to be coming from somewhere within the stone. Tiredness washed away in the light of his discovery, Sam's puzzled expression morphed into a wide, beaming grin and he patted the stone with affection.

"_Found you_!"

-o-

There is no loud heralding blare of trumpets, no jumping and writhing by some ridiculously manic announcer, no alarm bell clanging excitedly, no deafening claxon call when a spirit is about to re-form. It simply, and quietly, materialises. There _are_ those who have an ability to direct or exert a reasonable amount of control over whereabouts they appear. But for others it seems to be much more random, pure chance, almost as though they have to rely on a roll of the dice. And, of course, every once in a while, these types of spirits? They manage to roll double six...

**-o-o-o-o-**

**Might not be able to post for a couple of days - back to work tomorrow :(**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Might not be able to post over weekend - left conference centre having left my laptop mains cable  
**__**behind, **__**so likely to run out of power! Me just doing my usual dumb blonde stuff! I'm really sorry :(**_

**C16**

-o-o-o-o-

It was thanks to a sudden, and powerful, crushing pressure running down his front and back, further ratcheted up by the addition of an instantaneous dose of shock at the pain created by something sharp and jagged, that Sam realised something was off. After first punching through layers of clothing, something then went on to pierce his skin numerous times in a line running down and over his shoulder blade. Those intense piercing sensations were matching by another set which stabbed a line down his front from the collar bone. The unexpected twin tracks of gut wrenching hurt running parallel with the straps of his backpack loudly, forcefully, demonstrated to Sam "_It's back" _

Clamped firmly in the Thunderbird's beak, Sam cried out an incomprehensible noise, unable to form a recognisable word or sentence in his instinctive response to both the shock, and the agonising bite. Sam and the Thunderbird immediately engaged one another in a brief tug-o-war, until the Thunderbird lifted Sam up all too easily, leaving his feet dangled in midair. The creature thrashed it's head from side to side, violently shaking Sam in it's efforts to sink it's teeth in deeper. The action threatening to gouge chunks out of it's catch. Reacting rather than thinking, Sam utilised his whole body, swinging, punching, kicking, pulling and tugging in an attempt to force the creature to loosen it's grip, hoping to break free from it's iron grasp. He swiftly discovered his error and the manoeuvre caused his grunts of pain to transmute into a full throated scream; a result of the agonising sensation of tearing, ripping flesh at every point that the thing had it's teeth sunk into him.

-o-

Imprisoned by white hot, searing pain, Sam's mind flew into turmoil, becoming a vast galaxy full of countless spiralling, rapid fire thoughts, including a random flashback to a favourite Dean TV moment, that were shooting faster than the speed of light through his mind like a vast shower of meteorites. Sam grabbed at the flashback, only to hear it scream unhelpfully _This' what it must be like to be bitten by a Great White_. Instantly dumping that terror inducing comparison, Sam switched his attention onto the one that was knocking the loudest out of all his myriad of thoughts, focusing in on the rhythm that felt like something physically pounding against the inside of his skull, ushering him back on track with it's single word, _Gun, gun, gun._ It was enough to break through and enable Sam to pull himself back, to take control and dispel much of his body's pure panic reaction.

-o-

Sam re-connected with the comforting weight of the Taurus being held by a death grip in his hand, the hand that was at the end of the arm that was attached to the shoulder that was currently in the Thunderbird's incredibly powerful beak _Shit!_ Being tossed and shaken back and forth by the Thunderbird as he was, it took a couple of attempts before Sam could grab the gun with his free hand. It wasn't a comfortable shot using the wrong hand, but current circumstances meant at least it was a short one, even though it _was_ a moving target, or more accurately, a standing target that was determinedly keeping Sam moving. Trying to counter the effect of his body being flailed around, Sam awkwardly squeezed the trigger, and missed. _Shit, shit!_

-o-

At the sound of gun fire so close to it's face, the Thunderbird released it's hold on Sam and reared it's head back, a growl forming deep in it's throat. Sam took the chance offered to him. He landed on his back with a solid _thud, _already bringing his gun up. He aimed for the largest target area and the round hit the monster forcefully in the chest.

-o-

There was a moment of blessed relief, relief at being freed from the Thunderbird's serrated teeth, relief at having hit the creature with the salt round, relief and thankfulness for his momentary respite. Along with a subtle lowering of his sky high Adrenaline levels, came a nudge from the wounds inflicted by the spirit creature as they fought to made themselves known. The areas surrounding and in between the bites and gashes began to pulsate, whilst the open wounds themselves very quickly reverberated with a persistent and maddening, fiery sting. Sam could feel the liquid warmth of blood soaking into his clothing. None of it mattered to him. Dealing with his injuries would have to wait until later. Until he found Dean.

-o-

Sam grimaced and his breathing hitched. He rolled as carefully as he could until he was finally laying on his side, set on using his uninjured arm to support himself during the process of raising himself back up and onto his knees. His intent however was over-ridden, all movement cut short, his breathing virtually stilled, when his floor level gaze fell on a hollow in the earth, right at the base of the short stubby pillar. It was a heart stopping moment for Sam, which rapidly turned into one that made him want to laugh and to shout out aloud, despite his hurt, anxieties and desperation.

-o-

Batting away the impulse to call out in joy, instead Sam slowly stretched and reached out with his good hand, slipping it down into the shallow depression and underneath the bottom of the column. His fingers curled around the point of bright blue light that he had seen nestling there within the hollow, immediately feeling the vibrations which he had earlier thought came from the rock itself. The thing was hot, giving off more heat than a hand warmer, but bearable enough for Sam to grasp it and to keep a hold on it. Closing his hand around the thing served to lower the light level within the chamber. Cautiously extracting the item, Sam sat upright and, with equal parts excitement and curiosity, uncurled his hand and gazed at the thing sat on the flat of his palm, needing to half close his eyes against it's brightness in order to try and make out it's form.

-o-

Fascinated and enthralled as he was by the nature of the artefact in his hand, Sam remained completely oblivious to the fact that the Thunderbird had once more come into being close by. On the extreme edge of Sam's peripheral vision, the Thunderbird was standing, it's huge red eyes firmly fixed on the seated figure of the unwary Hunter, watching his every move.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	17. Chapter 17

_Found a cable that fits in a local electrical store -  
__Yippeeee! I'm reunited with my lap top:D_

**C17**

-o-o-o-o-

Sam could feel that the object he held was around half the size of his palm. Running his thumb across it told him that it was smooth, and shaped like an oval lozenge, though he struggled to make out any other detail due to it's constant glow and he muttered to himself.

"Too bright to see you properly. Don't suppose there's a dimmer switch anywhere?"

Sam stared wide eyed as the light emanating from his hand, gradually grew dimmer making it easier to see into it's core.

"Ok...That _could_ just've been a cool coincidence."

Lifting his hand level with his eyes, Sam looked closely at what he held. It appeared to be a stone or pebble of some kind, except that Sam could see into it's depths. The whole thing was coloured a stunning Azure blue and Sam could just make out a silky white, slender, four point star shape on the item's smooth domed surface almost dividing the stone into quarters.

"Sonova... A Star Sapphire! No...Make that a_ huge_ Star Sapphire! Gotta be worth...

A whirring, clapping type of sound interrupted Sam's speaking his thoughts aloud. Turning his head slowly, his heart hammering seemingly high up in his throat, Sam stared at the Thunderbird that was standing a mere handful of yards away from him, staring, it's red eyes glowing purple in the sapphire's light, dark streaks of Sam's blood still staining it's beak.

"Crap."

The unexpected sensation of a warm breeze startled Sam as it blew softly across his face. He noticed a tremor of movement in the patchy feathering on the Thunderbird's chest and he knew that the breeze had also touched the spirit of the Thunderbird. Every muscle in Sam's body was tensed, ready to move.

_I am Storm Chaser ... I am the Wind Walker_

-o-

Exactly as it had been on the previous occasion, there was no vocalisation of the words. Instead, Sam felt them, in the gentle caress of the breeze along his cheek. He wondered if the Thunderbird was also feeling the touch of the words as they flowed on by? He held his hand out, the gem stone nestling on his palm, senses tuned for the slightest sign of further aggression from the Thunderbird. Tilting it's head on one side, for a second or two the creature looked at what Sam held in his hand quizzically. There was a moment when Sam thought he saw the look of recognition in the creatures eyes, right before the bird suddenly burst into a squall of fury, filling the chamber with the noise that Dean had so accurately described as being _like_ _the_ _sound of a car breaking way too hard and going into a skid._

-o-

The instant the nauseating sound began reverberating throughout the chamber, Sam was moving. Out of options, fearful that he was out of time, he risked everything and followed his gut instinct, knowing there was the chance that his action could signal the end for both Dean, if he was still alive, and himself. The sound of a single gunshot ripped it's way through the cry of the Thunderbird, bringing it to an abrupt end, and Sam watched as the body of the flailing spirit became engulfed in silent flames until it finally dissipated, leaving no sign that the Thunderbird had ever been in the chamber. The area was instantly plunged into darkness when the last of the flames winked out, and the air temperature around Sam began to rapidly revert back to normal.

-o-

For a short while Sam sat breathing heavily, waiting for the nausea which the Thunderbird's cry had inflicted to ease off. He tried telling himself that this was the reason he hadn't yet disturbed the dark; but his own little Jiminy Winchester conscience bug poked at Sam, jabbing him in the back of his neck with it's little bug umbrella, forcing Sam to acknowledge the truth. Sam didn't want to switch his torch on because then he would be able to see the awful destruction that had been wrought; that he, Sam, was responsible for. Mentally Sam kicked Jiminy's butt, knocking the annoying critter off his shoulder, before threatening it with bug spray. Sam had done what he had to do and gut instinct had paid off. He'd _certainly_ saved his own life and, just maybe, the life of his brother as well.

-o-

The thought of Dean managed to galvanise Sam into action, and he turned on his torch. He couldn't stop the sharp pang of regret when he gazed at the tiny shattered remnants of the Star Sapphire scattered over the floor. The gem would have been worth a Hell of an amount if it had been saleable, instead of coming complete with the bound spirit of a gigantic Thunderbird!

-o-

Gathering up as many of the blue shards as he could, Sam looked for somewhere safe to keep them until he could gift them to Bobby, finally opting for slipping them into the pocket of one of Dean's over-shirts which he then rolled up into a tight ball and shoved into the depths of his backpack. Bobby would just have to make do with the pile of Sapphire chippings. That done, Sam switched guns again, carrying the Glock and keeping his own gun to hand at the back of his jeans. The strain of shrugging his backpack back on was like lighting a touchpaper to his injuries and Sam had to pause whilst he worked on the rhythm of his breathing. Eventually Sam reached that tilt point where he still felt the hurt hammering persistently at him, but he felt a little more like he was in control of the pain, rather than it controlling him. Sam turned towards the exit that would lead him further underground and walked out of the chamber, desperately hoping that the tunnel was taking him in the right direction to find his brother.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	18. Chapter 18

**C18**

**-o-o-o-o-**

Dean was freezing, his whole body trembling and shivering. He pondered on it a while _Hell's accountant not paid heating bill? _He sniggered at his own wit, only to have the laugh rapidly turn into another rib straining, hacking dose of coughing. The energy he used soon led to him feeling over hot again, although Dean himself simply assumed that Hell's heating system had now been re-connected. He guessed it wouldn't be very long before someone strolled along to re-start the torture party, but the break had been nice while it lasted.

-o-

Dean waited patiently, listening for any tell-tale sound that indicated his peace was about to be shattered. He wasn't used to being left whole for so long, Alistair didn't believe in too much R&R, said it wasn't good for the soul. Not Dean's soul, anyway. The continuing silence baffled him. There were no sounds at all, not even the background music that comprised of the familiar cries and screams of other tormented souls. Dean wondered if there was some sort of daemon public holiday? Maybe they'd all gone off on a day trip somewhere? Where would the denizens of Hell go if they all went on a group outing? Dean considered this to be quite a serious issue, and fever driven thoughts began to address this new question regarding the likely destinations for a convoy of coaches full of daemons. Laid on his stomach, his mind wandering, Dean failed to notice that the vague hint of blue which had been colouring the darkness was no longer there, and he had paid no heed to the absence of the partially feathered Pterodactyl, as though it had never existed for him.

-o-

Sam could only hope that the underground tunnel and caverns contained no other Thunderbirds, either in spirit or in the flesh and, there being no choice about the direction he had to take, Sam gave less consideration to stealth, and focused on what speed he could maintain. He had lost track entirely of how far he had travelled from the cave's entrance and the outside world, as far as he was concerned it could have been less than a mile, or it could have been twenty. However far, Sam was determined he wouldn't be turning back until either he found Dean, or ran out of tunnel. He paused briefly, and risked a shout, calling Dean's name and listening intently for an answer. When there was none, he continued walking, not prepared to give up hope.

-o-

The light from his torch showed the tunnel veering off to the right at roughly a 45 degree angle. Sam slowed his pace slightly as he approached the turn, still clutching the Glock, a reassuring weight in his hand. Almost immediately following the bend in the tunnel, Sam found himself at the edge of a further cavern. A sweep of the torch indicated that this was a much larger cavern than it's predecessor. Directing the torch beam upward, Sam gazed at the bizarre sight of the roots of plants poking through the cavern ceiling to then dangle loosely in mid-air at random lengths, looking for all the world like numerous thick, twisting cobwebs. Fascinated, Sam walked further into the cavern, his eyes still on the strange sight above him, until his foot kicked against something on the cavern floor, sending it skidding away from him.

-o-

Turning his attention down to the cavern floor, a sizeable bone gleamed in the pool of light from the torch. Sam stared at the bone, finally realising that he was looking at a thigh bone. His eyes widened in recognition. The thighbone was that of a human. Quickly casting the beam of the torch around the immediate area, Sam had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw more bones, both human and animal, scattered here and there. Bobby had said nothing about there being a high number of disappearances in the local area and Sam wondered what the extent of the Thunderbird's hunting range might be? Every bone he saw was clean, free of any signs of muscle, sinew or tendon. Either the Thunderbird was a fastidious eater, or many of the bones had lain there for a lengthy period; far longer than the amount of time the storm had been hanging over the area. Sam considered the implication and the possibility that, like the Wind Walker talisman, the bones had been here, hidden all along, until this tear in the ground had appeared on the high plains.

-o-

Following the contours of the cavern, Sam found little else until he came to where the cavern fed once again to a tunnel that continued further underground, except this time to Sam's heart aching dismay, he found himself faced with a choice of two tunnel entrances, positioned almost side by side and both seemingly extending further into the system.

-o-

Staring at the dark of the two tunnels, Sam's mood plummeted, to the point where he could easily have given up there and then. The task he faced suddenly felt too big, too hard; and failure too much of a certainty. He was tired, in pain, cold and disheartened. The way out, back to the open air, was temptingly nearby. It would be easy to make his way back. Get to the outside. Maybe go back to the outpost, get warm, see to his wounds and ask Bobby to get him out of there. Standing with his head bowed, Sam imagined himself getting the fire going in the shack, making himself a hot coffee, the relief of putting on dry clothes...And then having to admit to Bobby that he had come this far, then turned away and left Dean behind, not knowing whether his brother was alive or dead. A choked sob broke the silence, and Sam knew that he had no real option. He had to carry on, for as long as he could, and further. Dean would do it for him, and Sam wasn't about to become a lesser man than his brother. He was doing this, whatever it took, even if he found himself searching in the dark.

-o-

Sam moved forward, intent on shining his torch into both tunnel entrances, hoping for a sign telling him which one to choose. The first tunnel continued beyond the reach of the light, looking no different to the tunnel Sam had been following so far. In the second of the tunnels however, his light showed that it appeared to come to a sudden end, no more than a few feet in. Curious, Sam entered and walked it's length, scanning the walls with the torch, and finally picking out a large hole on the tunnel's left hand side. Sam found himself peering into a smaller chamber than those he had already come through. The ground in there was scattered with stones and pebbles, and Sam thought he saw signs of more bones. And then, the light of his torch picked out something else entirely.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	19. Chapter 19

**C19**

-o-o-o-o-

Scattered remains and multi sized rocks and stones were apparent in much greater numbers on the ground, including a number of disembodied human skulls. Stepping with care, trying to avoid standing on any bones, Sam moved further into the chamber, flicking the beam of the torch around and ahead, pausing when the light shone on what appeared to be the base of a huge mound of piled debris. Sam moved towards the structure and realised that a structure was, in fact, exactly what he was looking at. This was no natural fluke, no random occurrence, there was some form, some shape to the mound, definite signs of basic design. The mound hadn't just happened, it had been intentionally built. Sam noted the signs of a partial collapse in the structure at one side. Scanning the light upward, the structure was quite a few feet taller than Sam himself. It made no sense to him. The whole thing had been built mainly from the bones of the deceased, combined with smooth surfaced boulders and irregular shaped rocks. Numerous smaller bones along with twigs and the occasional larger wooden branch seemed to have been strategically used to fill gaps between the larger pieces of building material and to give it extra strength. Sam frowned, the thing must have a purpose, had to have been built for a reason _What the Hell?_ Sam's frown gradually dispersed, to be replaced by a look of both incredulity and anticipation. _A nest! It's got to be the nest of a Thunderbird! Dean! He could be here. Right here!_

-o-

Sam rapidly ran the torch beam back around the base of the nest mound, looking for somewhere to begin climbing, away from the partial collapse. His attention was caught by some signs of discolouration randomly streaked over the surface of a narrow section of the nest sides. He moved to take a closer look, and instinctively knew that he had, at last, found his brother. Running the light up the structure, he saw further streaks of blood, much of it still showing red against the lighter coloured rocks and over pale bones. This was fresh blood, only recently spilled.

"Son-of-a-bitch!"

His fear for Dean now paramount and with senses alert to signs of what may have occurred, Sam now noticed the further telltale blood marks on the grit sand floor, and the drag marks which went right to the base of the nest. Flooded with a renewed sense of urgency, Sam gripped his torch between his teeth, and slowly, cautiously, testing every hand hold, he began to climb. He refused to acknowledge the increased pain stabbing throughout his wounds, gave no thought to what further injury he might be inflicting on himself, ignored completely the sensation of warm liquid beginning again to seep into his clothing, Sam had only one goal, to reach the top of the mound.

-o-

Sam made it far enough up the sloped side to be able to see over the edge of the nest mound and into the slight indent that formed the central nesting area. At his first sight of Dean, Sam drew in a gasped breath of air. He quickly hoisted himself up and into the shallow of the nest without a second's thought and with no attempt made to protect his own wounds. Kneeling by Dean's side, Sam paled at the sight of his brother, his unnatural stillness, the coat he had been wearing now little more than tattered rags on his back, the feel of the heat radiating off Dean's body, his hair wet with sweat and coated in blood. Sam's hands hovered uncertainly over Dean, and he was vaguely aware of his own voice muttering a rapidly repeating _no_, _no, no_. It was a murmur of disbelief, a prayer, a demand and, the sound of a brother's plea, all at the same time.

-o-

Sam called Dean's name and placed a hand under his cheek. He tried placing his hand on the back of Dean's shoulder, shaking him gently. With a struggle, he managed to roll Dean over onto his back and tried saying his name again. Sam's eyes were drawn to the blood stain high on Dean's chest, then to the wound which went all the way through the centre of one of Dean's hands, and throughout it all, Dean made no response. Sam's primary concern was for the fever wracking Dean's body. The wounds he could do something about, even if what he could manage wasn't ideal; but the infection induced fever needed very much more than Sam could offer. Looking down at Dean, Sam knew that in order to get his brother the help he needed, it meant that he faced having to complete the near impossible. Just getting Dean down to floor level in the state they were both in would take a minor miracle. Undeterred, Sam rested his pack on the nest floor, opened it, and fished out the med-kit.

"Alistair...Don'...leave me 'lone. Don'..."

Sam instantly froze at the sound of his brother's rasping, croaking voice, and the name on his brother's lips. Almost automatically, Sam began to stroke Dean's cheek softly whilst hushing at him and making a string of similar reassuring noises, as if Dean were a young child that he was attempting to sooth.

"No...M'not...Not gonna. F'coff Alistair...Don'... _Ammy_...Don' go, don'.."

Even though his voice was little more than a husky whisper, Dean's distress was clearly evident and Sam tried again to wake him.

"Dean I'm here. I'm not going, I'm right here. Open your eyes and you'll see. It's Sam, and I'm here with you."

Dean's unhappy mutterings continued. Sam sighed and placed his hand back against Dean's shoulder, firmly this time. Dean's sleep talking immediately ceased, and a small frown creased his brow.

"Dean, it's me. All you gotta do is open your eyes ok? Just open your eyes and look at me."

Sam gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze, and Deans eyes flew open, his gaze darting around. The look of terror that Sam saw in his brother's eyes shocked him and he felt Dean's body tense as he garnered his strength, ready to try pulling away from Sam's touch.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	20. Chapter 20

**C20**

-o-o-o-o-

"Dean. Please. Calm down. It's me, ok?"

Dean's franticly searching glances finally came to rest on Sam's face, and his movements stopped, the fear in his eyes slowly replaced by uncertainty.

"Ammy?"

"That's right. I'm here. Everything's ok. I'm here."

"Y'sat you?"

Sam grinned down at his brother in relief.

"Who else would it be, Jerk?"

The frown returned to Dean's face and, along with it, a look of sympathy.

"Lost voice huh? Me too. Think they gone Disney L'nd, or maybe Death Valley picnic? Thursday S'my."

-o-

Sam was familiar with Dean's odd ramblings when he was as ill as this, but an alarm was triggered by Dean's assumption that Sam had lost his voice. Sam glanced at Dean's ear. Coated in blood as that particular side of Dean's head and face was, Sam didn't see anything specific. Leaning forward, he checked other ear. There he saw a tell-tale track of dried blood trailing down Dean's neck and caked into his hair, clearly having originated from inside the ear. Sam closed his eyes.

"Crap Dean. That's _so_ not good."

"Thursday?"

-o-

Dean's gaze was tired, but hopeful. Not understanding what Dean was referring to, Sam adopted a puzzled expression, clearly mouthing _what_? Dean sighed and his gaze began to drift.

"Thursday. M' Thursday..."

"Oh! _Thirsty_! Of course you are. Ok, hold on."

Sam turned to reach into the backpack, and Dean instantly became more alert as something captured his attention. Dean's actions were stiff as he reached out towards the area where Sam's coat was ripped and blood stained from his encounter with the Thunderbird. Realising what his brother was trying to do, Sam caught Dean's wrist before Dean had the chance to move Sam's coat aside and inspect the damage. Sam smiled, shaking his head.

"It's ok Dean. Really."

Doubt flickered in Dean's expression, but he reluctantly withdrew his hand and, instead, watched Sam's movements carefully whilst his younger brother retrieved a bottle of water from the pack.

-o-

Having taken off the remnants of Dean's coat, utilising it instead as a pillow for his brother, Sam then tore a strip from a towel, soaking it in water before laying it over Dean's forehead. Like a splash in the ocean, it wasn't much, but it was the best Sam could offer by way of relieving Dean's temperature given their current circumstances. Passing the bottle on to his waiting brother, Sam cupped a hand at the back of Dean's head, helping Dean to raise up enough to drink. Holding the water bottle with both hands, Dean eagerly began to swallow. Sam quickly put his free hand to the bottle, tilting it back enough to stop his brother gulping down as much as he could in one go. A stern shake of the head and a firm hand signal told Dean that he was to drink slowly and in stages. Dean shot Sam an irritated glare. Completely unconcerned by the look he was getting, Sam simply mimed being sick, embellishing his charade with an over done ghastly facial accompaniment that had the effect of successfully moving Dean on from annoyed, and into a fit of giggles. Sam couldn't help himself, breaking into a broad grin at Dean's reaction he affectionately reached down and ruffled his brother's hair. A move he would be loath to attempt were Dean fit and well. He also made a mental note promising himself that, when the time was right and the story of this moment could be used to it's best effect, he would be _certain_ to tell Dean, at length, about the giggling.

-o-

Taking the remains of the water off Dean, Sam placed it by Dean's side, after ensuring the cap wasn't screwed on so tightly that Dean couldn't undo it when he wanted another drink. Picking up the med tin, Sam showed it to Dean to signal that he was going to treat Dean's stab wounds. Dean grimaced.

"M'fine."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"No. Not fine. Look."

Sam lifted Dean's injured hand, directing his brother to look at it. Dean raised both eyebrows in surprise.

"I made a hole? How'd I do that?"

His charades not being up to explaining the Thunderbird, Sam prompted Dean to try to remember what happened.

"Don't you remember?"

Dean stared at the wound for a while, his brow furrowed in concentration. Sam clearly saw the moment that Dean's recollection kicked in by the rapid switch in Dean's facial expression, and green eyes suddenly looked up at Sam in horror.

"_Big Bird_! He did it! S'my, Big Bird's gone evil! Prob'ly a wicked witchy spell, s'right. _Poor_ Big bird. ... We're gonna hav'ta gank him an' all the kids'll be pissed at us. _Crap_!"

As concerned as he was for what had become of Big Bird, Dean didn't notice the startled, and amused, look that crossed Sam's face.

"Big Bird huh? Ok, bro'. Guess I can go with that...And Bobby's going to love it!"

Laying Dean flat again, Sam sighed as he lifted a screw top flask out of the med kit. He really hated having to do this to Dean, knew exactly how it was going to go, and also knew that he had no choice. Drawing Dean's attention back on him, Sam pointed to Dean's hand and showed him the bottle.

"I'm sorry Dean, but I have to do this."

Dean stared at the flask then back up at Sam.

"Hurt like a bitch?"

-o-

It was a noisy process, and Sam gave Dean some recovery time before going on to dress the hand. Cleansing his chest wound, however, proved too much for Dean in his weakened state. Sam considered it a blessing when Dean's body succumbed, suddenly going from rigidly arched, to limp and still. Sam worked quickly to apply a pressure dressing over the puncture wound, having to rely on medical tape to keep it there. Sitting back, Sam eyed the dressing critically. Reassured that it wasn't about to come loose too quickly, Sam reached back into the pack and grabbed the second bottle of water, re-soaking the strip of towelling draped across Dean's forehead before re-screwing the lid on the bottle. Sam himself was thirsty, but he refrained from drinking yet. There was a further unpleasant but necessary task that he knew he had to carry out.

-o-

Kneeling with his back to Dean, Sam clenched his teeth together against the pain that he knew was to come. He managed, with some manoeuvring and muttered cursing, to take off his coat. After a further battle, he made it out of his blood soaked sweat top, leaving himself shivering at the cold of the cavern air in just a ruined short sleeved tee. Unwrapping the sterile dressings in readiness, Sam eyed the flask of Holy Water. He knew that the sensible thing would be to cleanse his own injuries, just as he had done with Dean's. However, anxiety played with Sam, whispering and challenging him to imagine how Dean would react, what he would do if he woke to find Sam passed out by his side. Sam didn't dare take that chance. He wasn't prepared to risk causing Dean any distress or panic. He knew without any doubt that, however bad Dean felt in himself, he would immediately do what he always did; try to protect Sam, put himself in danger by attempting to get Sam somewhere safe even though, Sam guessed, Dean had no idea that they were currently in an underground tunnel system. Sam ignored the flask. Dean needed him and so, for now, all Sam could do was try to cover his injuries and hope no infection took hold, whether it be of the natural or supernatural kind.

-o-

Rolling up his tee, Sam inwardly cringed when he finally saw the line of gashed and torn flesh going from just below his clavicle and half way down his chest. Although to his relief the damage wasn't as traumatic as he'd feared, or as it potentially could have been, were it not for the element of protection provided by his heavy outdoor coat. Taping wound dressings over the area was fiddly, but doable. Dressing the damage to his own back, however, was set to be much more troublesome and likely to demand a level of contortionist skills that Sam, unfortunately, had not been blessed with.

-o-

Sam pre-prepared the wound dressings by applying the wound tape ahead of attempting to get the pads sited over the greater damage that had been done to his back. His twisting and turning efforts to then get the dressings positioned led to him irritating the wounds, re-igniting the fiery sting and he felt blood once more begin to drip over his hand and down his back.

"_Dammit_!"

He was about ready to give up, when a tug took the dressings out of the hand he currently had twisted up his own back. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Dean smiling up at him.

"I c'n do it S'my, s'ok...Move over? Crappy arms not long nuff."

Sam sat perfectly still, forcing himself to make no sound whilst, half laying, half sat, Dean very patiently and slowly worked to cover his younger brother's injuries and to ensure the dressings were secure. Finally satisfied, he pulled at Sam's ruined tee until he managed to get it down over the dressing. Finished, Dean patted Sam softly in the centre of his back.

"S'all good."

Sam heard Dean moan as he carefully laid back down, settling his head once again on his substitute pillow. Sam hesitated. He wasn't yet ready to turn and face his brother, needing a moment to gather himself, and to overcome the emotions that Dean's unconditional instinct to help had brought to the fore, _Jeeze, c'mon man. Stop being the girl he says you are! Chrissake, all he's done is stick a dressing on my back. Not like he hasn't done that a million times before. So, what's to snivel at? God I'm a douche! _Seeing that Sam still had his back to him, Dean figured his brother didn't know he had finished the job. Dean reached out and patted Sam's back again.

"S'done S'my...All fixed."

**-o-o-o-o-**


	21. Chapter 21

**C21**

-o-o-o-o-

Deep in thought, Sam watched without really seeing as Dean, this time obediently pacing himself, helped himself to more water. Sam was looking inward, busily contemplating the different potential methods and which of them might be the better option for getting Dean, and himself, to safety. He had already resigned himself to the fact that, in whatever way the task was achieved, there was only one place that they were both going to end up, that being the nearest hospital. Sam's gaze re-focused on Dean. No matter how determined and stubborn his brother could be, and he could be the world champion for both, Sam doubted, no, he was absolutely _certain_ that Dean had neither the physical strength or, indeed, the energy reserves right now that it would take before he could have any chance at all of successfully making the trek on his own two feet. And, although emotionally Sam was utterly willing, he had to accept the harsh fact that he, himself, was in no fit state of physical health to have the chance of being able to successfully carry his brother all the way back into the fresh air. This being the case, Sam was left face to face with his least favoured option, and the question of how he was going to make Dean understand. And how his brother was going to react.

-o-

Dean held out the bottle of water. Taking it from him, Sam slowly began to screw the bottle top back on, the newly activated stinging sensations throughout his wounds making what should have been a straight forward task seem much harder. Fortunately, Sam had managed to screw the lid back tightly enough to stop any spillage when one of life's little ironies took over and Sam accidentally lost his grip on the bottle when an acute and short lived arrow of pain unexpectedly shot right down his back. Once the heat of his own personal lightening bolt subsided, Sam reached to retrieve the bottle, freezing when he saw Dean gazing at it, his mind clearly occupied, the intense, thoughtful expression indicating that his brother was thinking something through, trying to work something out.

-o-

Sam watched sadly whilst Dean turned away and, over carefully, finally selected a lump of rock from amongst the debris that was within his reach. Still ignoring Sam, Dean lifted the rock, paused, then brought it down as hard as he could, smacking it against another lump of stone of roughly the same size laying within the nest. He repeated the action a second time. That done, Dean carefully replaced his rock in exactly the same spot it had been occupying when Dean selected it. Sam waited patiently, not interfering, simply being ready with his reassurances for when Dean decided he felt ready to face Sam again. So sure of how distressed his brother would be, Sam found himself completely caught off guard when Dean turned, and Sam saw the genuinely happy smile of discovery lighting up his brother's face.

"M' voice's ok S'my! ... Got wonky ears is all!"

With a burst of laughter Sam nodded, fully supporting his brother's self diagnosis.

-o-

It was against an inner turmoil of reluctance and regret that Sam began doing his best to explain to his brother his intention to get them both to safety, and what his plan entailed. Dean's reaction times were too slow to cover the fleeting expression of fear that crossed his face, an expression which very nearly broke Sam's resolve. Sam looked on in awe as he watched Dean swiftly take back control over his fear, internalising and burying it; replacing it with a nod of understanding and an outward acceptance of Sam's proposal.

-o-

Trying to offset his own feelings of guilt, Sam spent time trying to ensure that Dean was as comfortable as possible and that anything he might need, such as the remaining water, was to hand. Sam realised he was possibly overdoing things a touch when Dean began to push Sam's hands away and protest about _Fussy, jerky_ _brothers_. Sam's final piece of preparation was to persuade his increasingly exhausted brother to swallow down some painkillers. It was only then that Sam allowed Dean to close his eyes and drift back to sleep. For a while, Sam simply sat quietly and watched the untroubled face of his sleeping brother. Sam felt a mixture of pride and anxiety at the complete trust and faith that Dean displayed in Sam's ability to make everything alright and to find a way to get them both safely back home. It was Dean's constant faith that spurred Sam on. Sam smiled. All his life, Dean had believed in him, in what he was capable of. That belief had encouraged Sam, made Sam unafraid to push himself, whether physically or intellectually, taught Sam to believe in himself. And now, again, it was helping to keep Sam going, despite his weary body's deep desire to lay down alongside Dean and to rest, if only for a short while.

-o-

The simple every day act of putting on a clean, dry hoodie that wasn't partially shredded or stiff and sticky with his blood was a pleasure, and somehow helped to chase away a small part of the tiredness Sam felt. Looking at his all weather coat, Sam was tempted to forego wearing it. Common sense won out however, along with the desire to stay as dry and warm as he could. It was time to go. Without disturbing Dean's sleep, Sam steadily got to his feet, pausing on shaky legs, waiting for the tremors to ease up and his body to accept the fact that there was more work to be done. Finally, and with a last look at Dean, Sam turned and walked to the edge of the nest mound, ready to begin his journey, with the re-loaded Taurus, two cell phones, and one hard working torch for company.

-o-

Sam was delighted to see the faint glow of daylight in far less time than he had expected. But then, he was following bends and turns that had some familiarity after having travelled them once already. He was also journeying lighter without the backpack, he was not having to detour to search each chamber and, most importantly, this time he had no need for the level of caution or stealth which had been necessary when he first made his way through the tunnel and chambers. Even so, Sam was still surprised by the fact that, according to his rough calculations as he made his way towards the light that was the outside world, he had covered less than a mile from the original cave entrance to where he eventually found Dean. Sam was soon able to turn off the torch as the light levels in the tunnel increased. It was hard for him to resist the temptation to simply race for the exit and, instead, to keep to a pace that allowed time for his eyes to gradually adjust. Finally though, he was standing on the edge of the bright light of day.

-o-

Exiting the cave felt something like stepping out from the back of an old wardrobe. The change that Sam found was dramatic. He turned his face up to clear sapphire blue skies, and the welcome warmth of the afternoon sun. The only wind was the ruffle of a warm plains breeze, and the air was alive with birdsong and the buzzing, clicking sounds of a myriad of industrious insects. As far as Sam was concerned, this, right here, could be Heaven. Activating both cells, he set off to find a signal.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	22. Chapter 22

**C22**

-o-o-o-o-

Bobby Singer sat with his arms crossed, not so patiently, and with a butt that was fast becoming numb on his hard plastic chair. He'd spent a good portion of his time glowering at the hospital life passing back and forth in front of him. He glanced along the corridor to the nurses station, in time to catch the receptionist he had been harassing glaring at him. Bobby scowled back at the woman, before turning away again. He picked up an ancient copy of a golfing monthly and began to quickly flick through it. With no actual interest in golf, he barely glanced at each page, but it helped him to stop raising his head and staring hopefully every time the sounds of foot falls came towards him, only to then continue on by. Having finished flicking, Bobby dropped the magazine back down on top of the pile of equally ancient, and to his mind _intentionally_ boring, magazines with a heavy sigh.

"Mr Singer?"

At last, a set of footsteps had come to a halt at his side. Bobby shot to his feet so quickly, he caused the white coated woman to take two rapid steps back, actively putting a greater distance between herself and this potentially angry man.

"Yeah ... Yes. That's me m'am. How's he doin'? How's my boy?"

Seeing the genuine anxiety and concern for her patient in the man's eyes, the Doctor relaxed and smiled reassuringly.

"He's fine. Your nephew's going to be just fine. Please Mr Singer...Let's both sit down and I'll tell you what I can."

-o-

Anaesthesia and Morphine still floating around in his system, Sam kept zoning in and out, unaware that Bobby was sat alongside his bed, watching over him. Bobby's eyes kept being drawn to the ugly, zigzagging Iodine stained line of staples holding Sam's bruised and torn skin together. The lady doctor, when she brought him to Sam's room, had told him that the wound stretching part way down Sam's back was worse than the one he could see. The team he had sent in response to Sam's call were experienced and they had done a good job. The chopper pilot had spoken to Bobby once they got the boys out from the old underground tunnel and were in the air, on route to the nearest hospital. The pilot had worked with Bobby a few times now and had some knowledge of the Hunter's community and what they did. He'd no idea what his two passengers had come up against whilst they were underground, and he really wanted to keep it that way, but he assured Bobby that the injuries to both Hunters had been cleaned out with Holy Water as soon as the team had found them. One of the team had told him the pair were laying side by side _like Babes in the Wood who'd taken a wrong turn _and both sleeping soundly when they found them. From what the pilot had said, it sounded to Bobby like Sam had already cleansed Dean's wounds; that or Dean's injuries hadn't been caused by anything supernatural. Sam's wounds, however, had apparently reacted strongly, and taken some time to clear. Bobby shook his head, recalling the pilot's grisly description of the boys' injuries. He had known both Winchester boys almost all their lives, yet he was still constantly being amazed by the tenacity and devotion each of them displayed when it came to the other one needing help. The things they were prepared to put up with and what they managed to overcome in their drive to keep the other safe frequently left Bobby feeling overawed. Sam's physical injuries were by far the worst of the two, and yet he had carried on regardless. Bobby knew of no one, no one at all, who was stronger or more determined than his boys.

"Bobby?"

-o-

Sam was battling to focus on Bobby through sleepy eyes, blinking slowly and heavily.

"Hey son. Thought you'd turned into some kinda Sleeping Beauty. I was startin' to think you were gonna make me sit here for the next hundred years! How you feelin'?"

Bobby wasn't in the least surprised when Sam ignored his enquiry.

"Dean?"

Keeping his answer low key in due deference to Sam's dozy state of mind, Bobby smiled.

"Dean's ok Sam. He's up on High Dependency so's they can keep an eye on him. Turns out your big brother's gone and developed himself a nice dose of Pneumonia. He's in good hands an' they're sayin' he's holdin' his own...Thanks to you."

"What about his hearing?"

"Specialist'll be checking him when Dean's more alert."

"Can I see him?"

"Oh! _Sure_! How 'bout we trot up there right away? Tell you what; I'll go let the ward Sister know we're just poppin' out for a couple of hours. While I'm gone, you hop outta bed an' get yourself dressed. Oh, yeah.. Don't forget to unhitch yourself from that bag o' red stuff up there. Ok? ...Idjit! _No_. You _can't_ go see him yet!"

-o-

Throughout the next 24 hours, Bobby's time was mainly spent sat by Sam's bed. Primarily due to the fact that of the pair of them, Sam was the one who's condition made him more able, and likely, to up sticks and sneak off to go check on his brother. Bobby had to give the kid credit, the boy sure was persistent with his pleas, wheedlings and outright demands. Still, none of it cut any ice with Bobby, he could be equally dogged when he had to be.

"But, _Bobby_!"

"Forget it, an' you can sulk as much as you like kid. Ain't gonna get you anywhere fast. Answer's gonna stay the same."

"So when_ can_ I go see him? Is there any chance you could make it sometime before he hits 30?"

"_Ha ha ha._ Good one kid, my sides're _achin'_ with laughter! Ok. Listen up. Doc's said they gonna see how you're doin' later an' they _might_ try gettin' you outta that bed. Dependin' how that goes, I'll _think_ about it. Now, you can take it or leave it, but it's the best offer you're gonna get, comprende?"

Sam gifted the older Hunter with his most sullen glare.

"Ain't gonna work son. Might as well sit back, relax, an' get used to it."

"Bobby?...Anyone ever tell you you're a grumpy, annoying old man?"

"Not without they normally get a punch on the jaw."

-o-

It turned out to be a further 24 hours before Sam was finally given permission by his own and Dean's medical staff to visit his brother. It couldn't have come at a better time as far as Bobby was concerned, he was truly getting set to strangle the kid. As it was, Bobby couldn't push Sam's wheelchair fast enough for Sam's liking, despite Bobby's straight faced assurance that Dean had made no imminent plans to go surfing at any point that day! When he finally brought the wheelchair to a standstill outside the door to Dean's room, Bobby kept a firm grip on one of the chair's handles whilst he pointed out to Sam how things were going to be for this first visit.

"_Five_ minutes...That's all you get this time round. _Hear me_? Five minutes. Agreed? ... Sam...Are we agreed?...I'm thinkin' the answer you're lookin' for is _Yes_. Or I'll turn this thing around right now an' push you straight back to your own ward. By whatever route gets you there the fastest... _Well_?"

"_Christo!"_

"Still bein' the comedian eh? Well, just so's you know, I'll be crying with laughter out here while I'm waiting for you."

Stepping aside, a small smile on his face, Bobby watched Sam as he wheeled himself into Dean's room, eager to see his older brother and spend time alone with him.

**-o-o-o-o-**


	23. Chapter 23

**C23**

-o-o-o-o-

Sam fully expected that, given the hold the Pneumonia had on Dean, he would be linked up to various monitors constantly measuring vital functions such as blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen saturation levels. He'd guessed that in all probability Dean would be wearing an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. And it was almost a no brainer that he would have a drip line running to a canula positioned in the back of his hand busily delivering fluids and IV antibiotics. He'd envisaged there could well be a morphine pump set to deliver timed and measured doses of the strong pain relief. And it was an absolute certainty that necessity would dictate his brother had been lumbered with a catheter, the collection bag hidden discretely under Dean's bed. _None_ of this equipment, whilst he hated seeing it all surrounding and attached to Dean, came as any kind of a surprise. There was one thing though which came as a shock to Sam, capturing his undivided attention, and making him feel the need to swallow hard. Against the right hand side of Dean's chest was a small, square gauze pad. Protruding from it's centre was a three inch length of soft clear tubing, the end of which was closed off by a small stopper. Sam stared at the tubing, hating it, knowing that it snaked off inside his brother, and directly into Dean's right lung.

-o-

For some reason that Sam himself couldn't understand, the sight of the innocuous piece of tubing made him instantly feel nauseaus and light headed. Logic told him that it was a vital piece of equipment in the staff's battle against the fluid which they were having to regularly drain out of Dean's lung as part of their war on the Pneumonia. Sam had always been given to understand that the draining of any fluid was achieved by the patient regularly having to endure a large needle attached to a sizable syringe being stabbed between their ribs and into the relevant lung, where upon the syringe plunger would slowly be pulled back, sucking out any excess fluid from the lung and collecting it safely in the syringe. Sam sternly pointed out to himself that the method currently being used meant that Dean wasn't suffering the repeated trauma of someone intentionally invading his body by forcing a narrow length of metal between his ribs and through into his lung. Even so, the sight of that in situ tube continued to both freak and pick at Sam.

-o-

Sam forcibly dragged his gaze away from the tube and, having taken a deep calming breath, slowly wheeled himself across to Dean's bed. In his attempt to park himself as close as he could to the bed side, Sam misjudged his application of the breaks, and his wheelchair knocked into the bed, jarring it slightly, and awakening Darth Vader.

"_Klutz_..."

-o-

The entirely unexpected sound of Dean's breathy voice through the oxygen mask startled Sam. His head snapped up in shock, only to find his brother's half closed eyes fixed on him, and Dean's mouth curled upward in a small smile of amusement.

"_Shit_ Dean! You very nearly scared the _crap_ out of me! I thought you were out of it."

Dean's smile grew wider.

"Sorry. Didn't catch a word of that Sammy...Sure looked like you were sayin' way more than _hello_ though!"

-o-

From that first visit, Sam seemed to be doing his absolute _utmost _to wear two wheelchair tyre width furrows leading from his ward and heading all the way up to Dean's room on the High Dependency Unit. Bobby patiently remained on hand, always there to push Sam back and forth, whilst ensuring the young Hunter's repeated visits were timed in order to bring the least disruption to the staff and the other unfortunate patients trapped on the busy HDU. He also took care to see that Sam's visits didn't become too tiring for Dean, or interfere with his care. Bobby knew this pair well enough to recognise that Dean himself would never refuse a visit from his Sammy, and that he would always make an effort to appear as well as possible in his younger brother's presence. Bobby's monitoring of the length of visits proved unpopular, leaving him having to put up with twin pleadings and whinings, along with a duet of pouting bottom lips when he called time. Both Sam and Dean knew Bobby always acted in their best interests, but they continued to entertain themselves by playing with Bobby's exasperation levels. Bobby always knew full well what the pair were up to and, unbeknown to the brothers, he let them get away with it.

-o-

In between the regular visits with Dean, Sam worked hard to get back on his feet, and was soon wandering around the confines of his ward. As his activity levels increased, the morphine was reduced, then stopped altogether, and instead Sam was prescribed oral pain control which he was asking for much less often. It was becoming clear to Bobby that Sam was now getting bored and restless. Despite this, neither he or Sam had given voice to the fact that Sam was likely to be released from hospital in the very near future, and well ahead of his brother. Bobby was eventually forced to accept that this _too_ would need to be instigated by himself, and he wasn't looking forward to it at all.

-o-

On day six, and after having had a word with Sam's primary nurse, Bobby knocked earlier than usual on the door to Sam's room. He waited a few seconds before entering, just as he had done ever since Sam was no longer restricted to his bed. Sam's surprised expression, along with the smile he quickly snatched back, said that he was pleased to see Bobby. However, his grumpy tone of voice did a good job of hiding it.

"Oh, hi. Why so early? You just poppin' in on your way to some place way more interesting?"

Bobby inhaled slow and deep, stopping himself rising straight up to Sam's bait, forcefully reminding himself that the kid was going stir crazy.

"Hell no! Nowhere else I'd rather be than here, watching you being miserable. As it happens, I've had to get the ok off your nurse, but I've arranged a bit of a treat for you this mornin'."

Sam immediately flushed and looked sheepish. Bobby smiled, mentally chalking _One up for the old guy!_

"Wondered if you'd like to take a walk down to the canteen for breakfast this mornin'?"

Sam's eyes instantly lit up and his expression transformed into a grin.

"Seriously? _Walk_? As in being upright?...On my own two feet?...Bipedal and with no wheelchair?"

"Well. I guess that depends...How do you _usually_ walk?"

-o-

Like a bird suddenly spotting it's open cage door next to an open window, Sam was beaming all the way down to the canteen. He marvelled at how good it felt to be independently mobile again, rather than constantly having to rely on Bobby. He glanced at the man walking by his side.

"So, Bobby...Does this mean I get to _walk_ up to see Dean from now on?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he strolled across to the chalk board menu and began to read.

"I suppose it might."

-o-

Bobby watched as Sam ate his cooked breakfast with gusto, his newly gained freedom seeming to have done wonders for the young Hunter's appetite. Bobby intentionally waited until after they had eaten and Sam was happily drinking fresh coffee from a full sized mug, instead of the gravy coloured liquid served in tiny pottery cups back on the ward, before he brought up the subject of Sam's likely discharge from the hospital.

"So...I reckon it won't be much longer now till they throw you out of here."

Sam glanced around the brightly lit, busy area looking puzzled.

"Throw me out of the canteen? Why?"

Bobby rolled his eyes.

"And yet, Dean _still_ insists you're the intelligent one! Give me strength. I meant, throw you out of hospital..._Moron_. You know? _Discharge _you?"

Sam suddenly appeared to have spotted something fascinating in the depths of his coffee mug.

"Oh...Right. Sorry. Yeah, I guess not."

Bobby persevered.

"Course, no way _Dean's_ gonna be allowed out just yet. Might need to stay in for another couple of weeks or so, Pneumonia's not a thing to dick around with."

Sam's gaze stayed firmly focused on the inside of the mug that he now had both hands cupped around and he said nothing.

"Be good to get _you_ home at least though. Course, I don't doubt you'll want to visit Dean every day? Can't see as it'll be a problem at all. _Especially_ once they move him off the HDU. What d'you think? ... Sam?"

Sam finally stopped staring into the mug, moving his focus instead onto a rather interesting area of tablecloth.

"I dunno...I was...I mean, I've been thinkin', maybe I'll stay here?...You know, with Dean. About me being discharged though? Yeah, that'd be great...So, then I could possibly grab a chair and stay with him, in his room...You know, till _he's_ discharged? ... Well, that's what I'd been thinkin'."

Bobby sighed, he'd already guessed what Sam's intention would be, in fact he'd already had a talk with Dean, not that Sam needed to know about it.

"Son, I'm sorry. But it's just not gonna happen. No way are you gettin' to camp out here...I mean, really, you look like you got a zip front an' back! Till them staples come out kid, you're still gonna need to be careful. You're gonna need to rest an' you're gonna need to carry on buildin' back up, _slowly_! Now, none of that's gonna happen if you sit around here 24/7 on a crummy, butt numbin' chair. ... Believe me Sam, I ain't sayin' you can't come an' spend a good chunk of time with your brother every day if it's gonna help. _But_, you _will_ be coming back home again with yours truly every evening."

Sam raised his head, meeting Bobby's gaze directly. Sam's eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was set in his familiar straight line of stubbornness as he challenged Bobby.

"Says who?"

Bobby didn't flinch in the slightest, he was an old hand at _this_ game.

"Your Doctor ... And _**me**_!"

**-o-o-o-o-**


	24. Chapter 24

_So, here it is. The last chapter. Hope it's ok  
__(Runs off to hide under the bed)- Chick xxx_

**C24**

-o-o-o-o-

Dean grinned when Sam wandered into his room, but it faded when he saw the look on Sam's face.

"Sammy? What's the scowl all about?"

Sam grabbed a notepad and pen that had become Dean's ears on the world and quickly scribbled _Likely to be discharged soon._ Reading it, Dean frowned up at Sam in confusion.

"Ok...Shouldn't that be a happy thought?"

Sam looked at Dean, making sure his brother could see his lips.

"I want to stay here, with you."

"Really...And what, exactly, makes you think I'll _want_ you hanging around here constantly? I've been working on a couple of these luscious nurses. You're gonna kinda cramp my style if you're always hovering at my side."

Sam grinned and wrote on the pad again _You're just worried they'll like me better._

Dean gave a snort of laughter.

"_Please_!...Not gonna happen baby brother. See, I got this whole deaf thing goin' on. Those girls? They're just falling over themselves to mother me."

The smile left Sam's face and he began to write in earnest _Don't do that. I know how worried you really are, and so am I. Any word on when you get to see the specialist? _Dean looked serious as he read Sam's comment and he nodded, accepting Sam's admonishment, recognising the undercurrent of care running through it.

"He's comin' tomorrow sometime apparently. Guess we'll know more then. It's been a bit better over the past couple of days though. I've been picking up on some sounds. Not enough to make out what people are sayin' yet. It's kinda like I'm under water, while everybody else is talking at me from dry land."

Sam stared in shock at his brother's words before rapidly writing again _Why didn't you_ _tell me?_

"I...Maybe because I wasn't sure? Or because I didn't want to get your hopes up, just in case? Maybe because I didn't want to get my_ own_ hopes up? Honestly? I dunno Sammy!... Just because, is all."

-o-

The following day quickly spiralled into an unexpectedly hectic one for all concerned. Dean's named nurse confirmed that the hearing specialist would be seeing Dean later that afternoon. Further cause for smiles all round came when the HDU Consultant proclaimed Dean to be out of danger and, much to Dean's delight, well enough to be transferred to a normal medical care ward with open visiting times. It was a much more subdued reaction from Sam when, during _his_ Consultant's ward round, she and the rest of Sam's medical team agreed that Sam should be discharged and furnished with follow up appointments for the surgical outpatient's clinic.

-o-

As the day progressed, Bobby found he was having to act as referee, baggage handler, secretary, friend _and_ foe. Each time he thought he might just give in to the temptation to knock the heads of a certain two young Hunters together, he reminded himself that there was a friendly half bottle of single malt sitting on his desk, just waiting to welcome him back home. When it came to dealing with Sam's persistent drive to stay at the hospital with Dean, Bobby thought about that half bottle on numerous occasions. Things came to a head when Sam wrote something akin to a begging letter in an attempt to recruit support from Dean himself.

"No Sammy. No way. You can be here every day all day if you want, but wanting to be here while all _I'll _be doing is sleeping? ... That's just weird! ... S'not like I'm at death's door, is it?"

"No. Not now. But you _were_."

"But not _now_! ... Look Sam, Bobby's right...

"_Bobby_? He _told_ you to...

"Whoa! We talked, we agreed. Nobody _told_ anybody anything! ... Sammy, this arguing ... It's kinda gettin' to be ... hard work you know? ... Tryin' to breathe at ... the same time."

"Oh, God Dean! I'm sorry! Should I get someone?"

Looking suddenly paler, Dean shook his head and waved a hand to signal _no_ to his panicking brother.

"It'll calm ... Please Sammy ... I need you to take the ... time to rest and heal, ok? ... I won't sleep if I'm busy worrying about _you _not sleeping ... An' then it might take me longer to escape outta here ... an' I'll blame you, and have to kick your ass. See? ... Not worth it dude. So, here in the day. But you go home at night. Agreed?"

It was an intentional low blow from Dean. He knew that there was no way Sam would risk doing _anything_ that might endanger his brother's recovery. Were the positions reversed, Dean would feel the same way. Eyes downcast, Sam reluctantly nodded his agreement, missing the amused grin on Dean's face as he watched his tall, strong, intelligent younger brother turn into a toddler in front of his eyes.

-o-

The time stretched on into a further two full weeks before, to the relief of all three Hunters, Dean was at last discharged back to Bobby's. He left the hospital happily clutching the contact numbers for the two attractive young nurses, as well as an appointment at the respiratory clinic so that his progress could continue to be monitored. They arrived back at Bobby's just before lunch, Sam and Dean already having had two disagreements, the first triggered by the question of who was going to ride shotgun alongside Bobby, and the second being caused by Sam's insistence on taking charge of the drugs which had been prescribed for Dean. Dean instantly claimed Sam was already swamping him before beginning to persistantly refer to Sam as _Flo,_ after Florence Nightingale.

-o-

Almost immediately after Dean walked into the familiar embrace of Bobby's house, Bobby himself set to work, becoming a veritable blur of bread, fillings, pickles, salad stuffs and butter. Whilst Bobby was turning into some kind of sandwich maniac, Sam sent Dean to sit outside. Following not long afterwards, Sam grinned and bowed low as he presented Dean with his first beer in weeks. Raising the bottle in salute to Sam, Dean savoured each swallow. A shout from Bobby drew the brothers back indoors, where Dean found himself sat at the kitchen table, staring in amazement at a delicately leaning heap of sandwiches and a pre-baked giant sized homemade cherry pie which Bobby had originally planned to surprise Dean with in the hospital. The leaning tower of sandwiches gave into gravity and began to gracefully topple, saved by Sam's quick reflexes. It appeared that Bobby had made it his personal mission to ensure Dean regained the weight that he had lost throughout his ordeal.

-o-

As always, Bobby proved yet again how attentive he was as a parent to "his" boys. When he noticed Dean beginning to look tired after lunch, he responded quickly. Taking no prisoners, and without a moment's hesitation, he ordered _both_ brothers up to their room for an afternoon nap.

-o-

Holding open the door to the bedroom they shared whenever they stayed with Bobby, Sam watched with concern as Dean slowly walked into the room, heading straight for his bed. Suddenly it became clear to Sam that Dean still had a way to go before he could honestly claim to be back to his usual peak of fitness. Walking around within the confines of a hospital ward was one thing, but the energy needed to simply climb up the stairs had left Dean noticeably breathless. The hospital had sent him home with a goodly supply of inhalers, yet more antibiotics, and a month's supply of steroid tablets. Sam immediately took them into his care. Not willing to allow Dean the opportunity to forget to take them. Force of habit led to Dean griping about not needing a babysitter, but he hadn't the stamina for any kind of serious argument against Sam and his self imposed role. Dean sat himself down on his bed and began to untie his boots with his good hand before kicking them off.

-o-

Standing on the floor in one corner of the bedroom was Sam's backpack, still packed from the day they were brought down off the high plains and flown straight to the nearest hospital. Sam hadn't bothered with it before, but now he walked over to it. Opening the pack, he curled his nose up at the intense, powerful, fusty smell he had unfortunately released from inside the pack. Actively trying not to think about what new life form might be evolving in there, Sam shoved a hand into it's depths, feeling around quickly, he grabbed what he was searching for and swiftly fastened the top of the pack up again. He decided the best, and possibly the only, way to deal with whatever else was left in there was to take the pack outside, turn it up-side-down, dump the contents on to the ground and burn everything that could be replaced, backpack itself included.

-o-

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sam placed his prize on top of his bedside cabinet. Dean was already sprawled on his bed, on his back and fully clothed. He eyed the ball of cloth with mild curiosity.

"Whass that?"

Sam began to remove his over shirt.

"Souvenir. For Bobby."

Nodding, Dean accepted Sam's vague explanation, then his eye's lit up in excitement.

"Hey Sammy! What do you say about going back up there and exploring the chambers and following the tunnel further in? I never got to see _any_ of it. You up for it?"

"Sorry dude, no can do. Bobby's contacts, the guys that got us out? Seems they went back the day after and managed to have a minor _accident _with some explosives, right there, in the cave entrance and suddenly, oops, no more cave entrance!"

"An _accident_? Really? Well I never! ... Sam? You _do_ realise the scary guy downstairs is gonna want the full unedited version debrief later, from _both_ of us."

Sam shot Dean a mischievous look.

"Yup, he is...And obviously, _you_ realise he's been patiently waiting all this time for you to get your ass thrown out of hospital so he can finally wipe the floor with you for going off on your own like a...How did he put it?...Oh, yeah! _A_ _complete novice dumbass_?_"_

Dean felt his cheeks start to burn.

"No fair! _You_ know I wasn't thinkin' straight, right? I already told you, I just got this idea that I could go, do the job and be back before you even knew I was gone. And yeah, I _know_ it was a dumb move. Jeeze, you've told me that often enough but, like I said, it made complete sense at the time."

"Good luck telling that to Bobby. I don't envy you dude!"

-o-

Dean rolled over onto his stomach, his head turned away from Sam. He spent a brief moment wriggling around, seeking out his favourite dip in the mattress, before closing his eyes and breathing out a contented sigh. Sam watched with an affectionate grin as his brother went about his familiar settling down routine. In the relative silence that followed, Sam could hear the reassuring sound of Bobby whistling to himself in the kitchen, alongside the clatter of dirty plates being washed, and he could still detect the slight wheeze underlying his brother's breathing. For a while, Sam's thoughts drifted, reflecting on other times over the years that he and Dean had stayed in this familiar place. Sometimes it was because they chose to, quite often the stay was enforced, such as now. It didn't matter. Whatever instigated their stay at Bobby's, it was always here that he and Dean were closest to those small, but precious, moments of normality. Like listening to the sounds of pots being washed in the kitchen, or being given chores for the day, or sitting down together eating a home cooked meal ... _Home_. That's where they both were when they were here, irrespective of the reason...

"You _do_ get that watching me is totally pervy...Right?"

Sam grinned at his brother's muffled voice.

"I wasn't watching, I was just sat thinking."

"You were too watching! I could _feel_ it."

"Was not!"

Dean smiled to himself.

"Was too."

Dean listened to the solid _thud_ of Sam's boots dropping to the floor, followed by the creak and shuffles that were his brother finally moving to lie down on his bed.

-o-

The sounds of domesticity from downstairs had now ceased. Comfortable and content, Sam was very soon teetering on the edge of sleep.

"S'my."

There was a split second when the quiet, sleepy sound of Dean's voice transported Sam straight back into the tunnel and his first sight of his dangerously ill brother. He quickly regained his sense of self when his eyes opened to the afternoon daylight.

"Wha'?"

"M' sorry I went all Looney Tunes on you up there. You wouldn't have got hurt if I hadn't been such a douche."

"Dean, you don' know that. It might've been even _worse_ if we _had_ gone out together. An' _for once,_ bein' a douche wasn't your fault...Unless you're sayin' you went an' got Pneumonia on purpose?...You didn't, did you?"

"_Now _who's bein' a douche?"

"You started it."

Hearing no reply from his brother, Sam closed his eyes again ready to drift off.

"S'my?"

"S'my's not here ... Go to sleep, or I'm tellin' on you."

"S' juss, you saved me...You looked for me an' you saved me...Am alive 'cos o' you."

"Only did it so's you didn't die an' haunt my ass. No big."

Dean's voice grew fainter as sleep began to claim him for it's own.

"Only out cos a' you S'my...Only cos a' you...My awesomey li'll broth'r ... Awesu ..."

Sam smiled, the change in Dean's breathing signalling that his brother had fallen asleep whilst still speaking. Sam raised his head off his pillow, twisting around slightly to look over his shoulder at the back of his brother's head.

"Any time bro' and, I love you too Dean,."

-o-

The dozily murmured response was soft and quiet, but not so quiet that Sam might not hear it.

"_Perv..."_

**-o-o-o-o-**

**FIN  
**_Dedicated to DearHeart, Starcatcher 95 & ncsupnatfan _

My HUGE heartfelt thanks to **everyone** for your incredible reviews!  
Many of which have honestly left me sitting in stunned silence **:**-o  
_Chick_ xxxx **;**D


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